


Well Hey There, Neighbour

by Antifreeze_at_its_Finest



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is the one we’re sacrificing to Omi’s sleep paralysis demon, Baking, Chaotic Good Bokuto, Don't you hate when that happens?, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fire alarms going off at 4AM, I'm talking real ugly but it gets better, Meet-Ugly, Neighbours AU, Pilates, Post-Timeskip, Reader is a klutz but she's trying her best, Sakusa has no sense of social conventions but he's trying his best, Slice of Life, Slight AU where the MSBY gym is in Tokyo, Slow Burn, Sunshine Child Hinata
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antifreeze_at_its_Finest/pseuds/Antifreeze_at_its_Finest
Summary: “You germaphobic asshole! Dammit, I hate my life!”Before he can act, or even think, you’ve risen to your feet, unlocked your door, and slammed it shut behind you, muffled sobs still sounding through the walls.He definitely should’ve taken the Shinjuku apartment.OR: Your breakup leaves you an emotional (and physical) wreck. Your new germaphobe neighbour only makes things worse (read: better).
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 370
Kudos: 609





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Night_Writer3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Writer3/gifts).



> Hi guys! I've been writing fanfic for a few years now, but this is my first published work (yay!). I'd like to thank my friend Night_Writer3 for her unconditional support, brilliant plot suggestions, and for encouraging me to finally start posting my work publicly! Got a ton of crazy shenanigans planned for this story, don't let the angsty first chapter fool you. :)
> 
> Please don't leave any anime/manga spoilers in the comments! I'm only caught up to the end of the first half of season 4. Thank you!

* * *

“Really, you’re crying? Don’t make me out to be the asshole here, I gave you so many signs. I mean, come on – when was the last time I texted back more than one word? When was the last time I texted back _period?_ You probably knew too, even you’re not that dumb. You just refused to see it,” he says, and the worst part is that he’s right.

The ignored text messages, the calls sent straight to voicemail, the flimsy, last-minute excuses he’d pull when you were already at the date venue, waiting for him... He flaked out the last four times, and the one time he did show up – maybe a month ago? – he was thirty minutes late and spent the whole date glued to his phone, answering only in grunts and nods.

That didn’t stop you from showing up to his workplace in the cocktail dress you bought with two-thirds of this month’s paycheck, though. The Swarovski choker you got with the rest suddenly feels too tight around your neck, and you’re pretty sure the matching bangle will never come off your wrist unless you chop your hand off – it was such a pain to get on in the first place. The nude heels were a lucky find that you excavated from the back of your closet, but they were from your middle school graduation and about two sizes too small. Still, you crammed into them anyways because you wanted to look _pretty_ for him.

And… maybe also for yourself, because this was your one-year anniversary as much as it was his, and you didn’t want to let the carefully constructed, fairy tale façade you built for this relationship shatter into a million pieces. Looks like all that effort was in vain, though.

So yes, he’s right. You knew. _‘Even you’re not that dumb. You just refused to see it.’_

Now, however, as you stand in the middle of the lobby in your fancy dress, sticking out like a sore thumb among his colleagues in their pressed shirts and pencil skirts, you realize just how much of a fool you’ve been this whole time. Most of the office workers shoulder past you, eager to get the hell out of here now that the workday has ended, but some of them linger to observe the soap opera currently unfolding in their otherwise very dull insurance building.

You feel like the villain here, oddly. Maybe it’s the way he stands with his feet shoulder-width apart and his chest puffed out, as if the two of you are facing off and you’re some foe he’s here to vanquish. More likely, it’s the woman hanging off his arm wearing a matching office lanyard – you _knew_ it’d be a co-worker, dammit – and the way she asks not-so-subtly if _this_ is his psycho ex-girlfriend.

Some part of you that still has an ounce of pride demands that you hold back the tears, tell him off, and storm out of the building like the strong, independent woman you are – like the heroine in a coming-of-age novel who’s realized that her self-worth shouldn’t be defined by a relationship with a man who doesn’t appreciate her.

But hey, your boyfriend breaking up with you like a decent human being had been too much to ask – and apparently, so is this.

Tears roll down your cheeks, taking with them the eye makeup you took half an hour and five YouTube videos to put on. It all becomes too much, and you start sobbing right there in the middle of the lobby, trying uselessly to cover the ugly black streaks of mascara running down your face with your hands. You turn on your heel in an attempt to sprint to the exit, only to trip and fall in these hell-devices Steve Madden calls shoes.

“If you’re going to storm out, at least do it with a little grace.” Your ex’s words are scathing as he and his new lady friend approach you, the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floors making you nauseous. When they are directly beside you, he lingers for a moment to look down the length of his nose at your pitiful form sprawled on the floor. You don’t have it in you to meet his eyes. You know what you’ll find there anyway – disgust, pity, amusement – maybe a condescending mix of all three.

Eventually, the sound of heels clicking against the floor fades into the distance, taking him along with it. And just like that, they’re gone.

A few minutes pass. Most of the curious onlookers have filed out, and of those that remain, none offer you their assistance. At least the tears have stopped now.

Sighing, you sit up, wipe the drying tear streaks and snot off your face with the back of your hands, and pry your shoes off with little remorse. You stand up and throw them in the nearest trash can with even less.

You exit the building feeling numb, and it’s not until you feel the cold droplets on your skin that your brain registers the fact that, hey, _it’s pouring out here._

If you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that your boyfriend ghosted and publicly humiliated you minutes ago – on your anniversary, of all days – you’d laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. It’s like every power in the universe is suddenly treating your life like a joke. And at this point, maybe it is.

You scramble beneath the awning of the company building, already regretting your decision to throw away your shoes because your pantyhose-clad feet are sopping wet and _freezing._ However, as you rifle through your purse for your train pass, that turns out not to be the greatest of your concerns.

You curse your lovesick, deluded self for leaving your pass at home in favour of a cab – you didn’t want to risk the effects of Tokyo subway humidity on a full face of makeup and Hollywood curls meticulously set with hairspray. A load of good that did you.

You step out from the safety of the awning to stand on the curb, waving down cab after cab. The only thing is, _they’re not stopping for you._ And you suppose you wouldn’t either, if you were them. You really do look like a psycho ex-girlfriend with your mascara-streaked face, tangled wet hair, and shoeless feet.

And oh, a fresh wave of tears is taking over again. It’s hard to tell when your face is being pelted by raindrops, but you can distinguish the tears by the salty taste they leave as they roll past your lips.

All you want is to take a warm shower and curl up in bed with a tub of ice cream, ideally for the rest of your life. Maybe a million tubs of ice cream. Maybe a metric ton.

So you soldier on in the pouring rain, stepping on cigarettes and rocks and narrowly missing the broken beer bottle on the side of the road – thank God – in your ripped pantyhose, your ex’s last words still fresh in your mind. _‘At least do it with a little grace.’_ You straighten your back and walk with your head held high, doing everything in your power to ignore the lingering stares of the other pedestrians.

* * *

Sakusa had his reservations about moving.

He’d grown quite attached to his last apartment, after all. Well, maybe not the apartment itself so much as its state of cleanliness. For three years, he kept up an arduous, weekly cleaning routine to keep the place free of dirt, grime, and most importantly, outside germs. At this point, he’s sure his old apartment must be as sterile as an operating room, if not more so. That is, if it hasn’t been contaminated by whatever bozo they leased it to after he left. He shudders at the thought.

Still, he and Coach Foster agreed that it’d be more convenient for him to live closer to the gym so he wouldn’t have to wake at the crack of dawn every day to get to practice. That way, he could stay for the late-night sessions with Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu too, not that he’d ever let them know he was feeling left out.

So after three months of searching, countless phone calls with his real estate agent, and a longer-than-necessary inspection of the place for any signs of mould, cockroaches, or rodents, Sakusa signed the lease, confident in his decision.

That confidence is nowhere to be found as he eyes the sopping wet, mud-stained, shivering _creature_ currently making its way towards him, the ruined makeup and soggy locks of hair making her look like something straight out of those horror movies Atsumu’s so fond of.

It must be, what, past midnight at this point? At his old place, Sakusa would take the trash out around this time _specifically_ because there were no other tenants roaming the halls. Behind his mask, he scowls. Seems like he’ll have to reschedule his chores around the nightly routine of whoever’s beneath this soaking mop of hair.

He knew he should’ve gone with the apartment in Shinjuku, dammit. He curses himself for being so easily seduced by the granite countertops in the Shibuya flat – with all the young people here, it was only a matter of time before he ran into a complete weirdo.

Looks like that time is now. And just when things couldn’t get any worse, they do.

There must be at least twelve rooms on this floor alone. As the stranger makes her way towards him, he thinks to himself, _what are the chances?_

Apparently Murphy’s Law is a real thing, or maybe he’s just done something in the past month to piss the universe off, because you stop right in front of the apartment next to his.

Well hey there, neighbour.

Sakusa is horrified to say the least, doubly so when he realizes you’re tracking mud down the halls and – would you look at that – the water dripping off your body is now forming a dirty puddle _right in front of his apartment._

And then? _You sneeze on him._

Sakusa feels his soul leave his body, and in its wake lies nothing but pure, unadulterated rage.

“Cover your damn mouth! And you better watch where you’re dripping, or so help me, the pneumonia you’re gonna catch from that rainwater will be the _least_ of your concerns! This place must be full of ingrates like you. I _knew_ I should’ve taken the Shinjuku place, I _knew_ it!”

Sakusa can feel the veins in his forehead throbbing already, and this really isn’t how he’d wanted his first interaction with his neighbours to go down, but it looks like there’s no going back now. He pinches the bridge of his nose and decides that, hey, he might as well get everything off his chest.

“And tell me, why aren’t you wearing shoes? You better hope and pray you didn’t step on anything sharp, because that’s just a bacterial infection _waiting_ to happen. Disgusting.” He says the last word with a sneer, nose wrinkling just enough to be seen over the top of his mask.

Sakusa’s about to cut his losses and head back inside his apartment, trash bag still in hand, but he’s stopped dead in his tracks when you start… crying? Suddenly your legs give out and you just collapse on the floor, sobbing, and although Sakusa is talented at many things, comforting people has never been one of them.

He’s under no obligation to help, is he? Against his better judgment, he stops to consider it, but his thoughts are interrupted when you scream out, voice cracking like an eight million yen vase in a shoujo anime:

“You germaphobic _asshole!_ Dammit, _I hate my life!”_

Before he can act, or even think, you’ve risen to your feet, unlocked your door, and slammed it shut behind you, muffled sobs still sounding through the walls.

He definitely should’ve taken the Shinjuku apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter with your ex (eavesdropping counts, right?) causes Sakusa to feel something akin to remorse.

It’s been three days since the most epically tragic, earth-shattering night of your life, and honestly? You’re coping okay.

...Alright, maybe your ex had a point when he said you had a problem tricking yourself into thinking things are better than they really are. Because honestly? You’re far from okay. So far from okay that the pungent odour coming from your pits is already making you cringe. No, not your pits. Is it your hair? Maybe your feet?

All of the above, most likely, seeing as you haven’t showered since the night you came home drenched in the rain. You reach up to touch the greasy, matted mess your hair has become, instantly regretting your decision to forgo shampoo – all you wanted to do that night was collapse in bed, could anyone really blame you for being lazy?

Yes, they can. You do, at least. The oil sitting in your scalp is making it itch like crazy, almost as much as the time you had lice in elementary school.

You were lucky the breakup happened on a Friday, but even with the weekend to recuperate, you just aren’t feeling up to going to work today. A shame, too. You even picked out the plainest, most unfashionable clothes in your wardrobe to truly convey to the world just how sucky your life is right now. (They came from the box of items you were going to donate to Goodwill, but that’s your little secret.)

You know your coworkers will eat you alive for skipping out – it’s nearing the end of the quarter and your team’s about one deal away from nabbing first place in sales, which comes with its own cushy list of benefits – but you can’t help it, you’ve just got to call in sick today.

Because – curse that know-it-all germaphobe next door – you really _are_ sick.

With a downright nasty cold at that.

There’s more pressure in your sinuses right now than in the Marianas Trench, and every time you swallow, it’s like Ali Baba’s forty thieves are stabbing knives in your throat, because they’re oh-so desperate for the leftover chicken salad you’re forcing yourself to choke down. God knows you don’t have the energy to cook right now. You don’t have the energy to take out a proper plate either, because you know you’ll have to wash it after, and just the thought makes you want to sink into bed all over again. So you opt to eat your salad straight out of its Tupperware.

You sneeze, for what must be the twelfth time this morning alone, and as you do, you feel a piece of chicken go up your nose, which is a whole ordeal you’re just not prepared for so early in the day. Running to the kitchen sink, you’re sure you must be quite a sight in your ratty old bathrobe, choking and snorting in a desperate attempt to get the foreign body out of your nasal passage.

Somewhere between snorting it out and running yourself a glass of water, the face of your clean freak neighbour suddenly pops into your mind, black curls, beauty marks and all. The mask he was wearing had concealed half his face, but even in your depressed state, you’d thought he was handsome.

_‘The pneumonia you’re gonna catch from that rainwater will be the least of your concerns!’_

_‘This place must be full of ingrates like you.’_

_‘That’s a bacterial infection just waiting to happen.’_

Before he opened his mouth, that is.

_‘Cover your damn mouth!’_

You flinch, some of the water in your glass spilling out and onto the sleeve of your robe. Cursing, you reach for a dish towel to dry it off, but not before your memories start piecing themselves together.

_‘Cover your damn mouth!’_

Oh. You sneezed on him, didn’t you?

You remember your landlady warning you that morning about the new tenant who was moving in. ‘ _A real germaphobe,’_ she said. ‘ _Took three hours to inspect every nook and cranny of the place, and he wore his mask the whole time. Too many germs in the air, he said.’_

You think of how much you hated it when people sneezed without covering their mouths during flu season in college, especially when they were in the library cubicle right next to you. Oh gosh, you’d been standing right in _front_ of this guy, hadn’t you? Your mucous particles had probably gotten all over him.

Some strange sense of remorse overtakes you, bubbling in your chest, and – wait, no, that’s the tingling from the VapoRub.

_‘Disgusting.’_

The way he said it, the way he looked at you like you were nothing – it was so reminiscent of your ex that it made you shiver.

Forget remorse. You must still be delirious from the fever.

* * *

Sakusa has been called an asshole his whole life by his classmates, his teammates, hell, even his friends. A _‘germaphobic asshole’?_ Sure, more often than not, actually. So really, although he made it a small goal for himself not to offend any of his new neighbours unnecessarily, he can’t say he’s feeling too guilty about what happened a few nights ago.

You looked like you crawled out of a sewer, and for all Sakusa knew, you were dripping disease-ridden, murky sewer water dangerously close to the inside of his apartment. And then you _sneezed_ all your sewer germs on his face, which he had just thoroughly washed with facial cleanser and mineral scrub.

(And no, it’s not for the baby-bottom complexion, no matter what Atsumu says. He bought it because the product label said it was deep-cleaning and would lift all the dirt from his pores.)

Sure, he went off the rails a little bit, and maybe he did feel a tad guilty when he heard you crying through the thin walls of his apartment, but that all turned to bitter resentment when the sound of your sobs persisted until four in the morning.

And they have resumed every night since at varying times past midnight. Except now, your weeping is punctuated by coughs and sniffles, which is somehow infinitely worse because just hearing you hack up phlegm makes Sakusa feel nauseous. He knew you’d get sick, he _knew_ it.

But it’s a hollow victory because he still has to deal with hearing you bawl your eyes out at one, two, three in the morning. How do you not pass out from dehydration? Are you hooked up to an IV that pumps you with fluids 24/7? He’ll never know.

What he does know is that the constant sobbing and sad music – _Evanescence_ , really? – blasting from your apartment in the wee hours of the morning have shot his sleep schedule to hell. It’s reached the point where Coach Foster is seriously questioning whether having Sakusa move closer to the gym was really worth it. He’s just as drowsy at early morning practice as he was before, if not more so.

Today was one such day. Actually, all the days since he moved to this cursed apartment complex have been lousy. And he’s more than a little worried about how that’s going to reflect on the game tonight. Atsumu and Bokuto are finally starting to sync up better, and whatever Hinata learned in Brazil is clearly working, especially after the confidence boost he got after his superstar debut, so even if Sakusa’s a little off today, the rest of the team should still be able to cover for him.

The elevator dings and Sakusa steps off at his apartment floor. Just as he rounds the corner, he catches sight of a man he’s never seen before standing right outside your front door. Something in Sakusa tells him to wait behind the corner and see what happens. Concern? Not likely. Curiosity, maybe – specifically as to whether or not you look like a shrivelled prune after crying twice your body weight in water over the past three nights.

You open the door in a ratty pink bathrobe, hair a greasy, tangled mess and your eyes half-lidded, clearly drunk on Nyquil.

However, your eyes widen and your whole body suddenly snaps to attention once you see who’s at the door. Hmm. Interesting.

“Oh gross, you’re sick. What happened, get caught in the rain that night?” the man says, his voice drawling in a way that’s eerily similar to Sakusa’s. “I need my video camera back. The girl I’m flirting with won front-row seats to some volleyball game and she wants to record it.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and suddenly you’re laughing, dry, humourless, and more than a little congested from all the mucus taking residence in your nasal passages. It doesn’t take away from the hurt on your face or the tension in the air.

“That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What else is there? I made it pretty clear that we were over, you were the one who didn’t take the hint.”

“We were together for almost a year – people don’t _ghost_ each other after that much time passes. People shouldn’t ghost period, it’s immature and cowardly.”

“Right, because nothing screams ‘adult’ like sobbing on the floor like a baby – God, in _public,_ too.” The man closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as his brows furrow in disgust. “You just couldn’t keep it together for ten minutes, could you? You embarrassed both of us in front of all my coworkers because you were just too stupid to admit that it was over.”

You freeze where you are, speechless. Then, your bottom lip starts to quiver and you spin on your heel, retreating into your apartment. For a second, Sakusa thinks you won’t come back. But you do, reappearing minutes later with a Fuji X-T2 that you shove unceremoniously into the man’s hands.

“You’re right. I was too stupid to admit that you were just a dirty, rotten bastard I never should have wasted my time with in the first place. Take this and please, for the love of God, never show up in my life _ever_ again.”

You slam the door in his face so hard that it rattles on the hinges.

“You didn’t have to ask, sweetheart!” he hollers after you and storms away. He doesn’t see Sakusa as he rounds the corner, and ends up knocking into his broad chest in a way that must be painful if the grimace on his face and the hand coming up to rub his shoulder are anything to go by. He glares at Sakusa as he leaves, who returns the gesture in full.

Sakusa knows he can be an asshole sometimes, but if you compare him to the man who was just in front of your apartment, he could be considered a ball of sunshine in the same leagues of wholesome as Hinata. No wonder you’ve been sobbing for three days straight.

Sakusa is suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt, the scathing remarks he made to you a few nights ago replaying in his mind like a bad movie. With great trepidation, he approaches your door and raises his hand to knock, but he pauses. You probably don’t want to see anyone after what just happened – least of all him.

So he lowers his hand, sighs, and takes a step to the left to enter his own apartment.

Shutting the door behind him, he bends down to remove his shoes when he hears you sneeze through the wall, followed by the sound of you blowing what sounds like a gallon of mucus from your nose. Sakusa’s mouth curls in disgust as he unties his shoelaces, but then a light bulb goes off in his head and he stops what he’s doing.

Although comforting others has never been one of Sakusa’s strengths, getting over an illness certainly is.

He should know – he caught a cold every two weeks when he was a kid because his immune system was about as weak as the flavour of buttered noodles. A memory begins to resurface in his mind: his mother staying at his bedside with damp rags and a hot water bottle as she brushed back his sweat-damp, matted curls, which in hindsight, must have been so unpleasant. He is in no way prepared to do the same for you in your germ-filled apartment.

What he can do, however, is leave you some of his mother’s home remedies that she taught him how to make when he first moved out on his own.

An hour later, Sakusa emerges from his apartment carrying a tray of cold meds, honey-lemon tea, umeboshi, and okayu, which he sets in front of your door gently before knocking and running to hide behind the potted plant in the hallway. He feels like a schoolboy, but he tries to maintain as much dignity as possible. Which admittedly? Isn’t much, especially when he has to crouch down to fully conceal his tall form.

Sakusa’s duffel bag is already packed for the game and slung comfortably over his shoulder, so as soon as he sees you exit your apartment, eye the tray of food warily, shrug and take it back in with you, he breathes a little sigh of relief and makes his way to the stadium.

At the game later, Sakusa spots your ex and his date in the front row, as expected. And although he hates to be petty, once the game ends and he sees Atsumu riding a victory high that makes him even more cocky than usual, the chance is just too good to pass up. He asks Atsumu for a rare favour.

“Please don’t ask why, but I need you to flirt with that girl over there.”

“But she’s with her boyfriend?”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“Good point.”

When Sakusa returns home that night, he sees the empty dishes outside your door, already washed and dry. The sight makes him smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get over your cold, Sakusa's perpetually late to practice, and things get worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last episode of the pilot! Woot-woot! Each chapter after this will function with a more stand-alone plot, but they'll still be interconnected. Thank you so much to everyone reading! :)

Admittedly, you’re a little disappointed when you open your door in the evening and there isn’t another tray of assorted Japanese cold remedies waiting for you. Maybe you’re getting greedy now. Your new neighbour has been spoiling you for an entire week, but you haven’t sneezed or coughed once in the past two nights, and really, you’re more-or-less back to normal.

Truthfully, you’ve known it was him since the first night. He just doesn’t know that you know, and to avoid any awkward confrontations, you’ve been content to keep it that way.

You almost hadn’t taken the first tray into your apartment. There weren’t a lot of other tenants you were familiar with on your floor, and even fewer who knew you were sick in the first place, so this could’ve been a random gift from a stranger or another cursed object the universe sent your way. Maybe it was drugged. Or worse, poisoned.

Paranoia crawling to the forefront of your mind, you brought the tray of food into your apartment, but immediately after closing the door, you peered through the peephole to see if you could spot the random do-gooder – or creepy stalker – that left this admittedly very tempting meal on your doorstep.

So just imagine your surprise when you saw your germaphobe neighbour emerge from behind that ugly potted plant in the hallway, take one glance at your door, _smile,_ and leave. The first thought that came to your mind was: _Yeah, this is definitely poisoned._

The growling in your stomach overtook any sense of rationality, though, and before you knew it, one tentative bite of the umeboshi had turned into you scraping the last of the okayu from the bottom of the bowl and downing the last gulp of tea in your neighbour’s pewter mug (along with the cold meds he’d left behind, even though they _screamed_ suspicious). All that remained of the umeboshi were the pits, and as you eyed them on their little ceramic dish, you cursed your lack of self-control.

You woke up the next morning feeling fine – more than fine, actually – and when another tray appeared at your door that night, carrying with it a plate of honey-soaked daikon, onigiri, and a steaming cup of ginger tea, you took it inside with relatively little hesitation. You felt stronger day by day, enough to start showering daily again and go out for groceries to cook on your own. In fact, you’d been feeling so good that a few days ago, you decided to wear an outfit that _wasn’t_ from your box of Goodwill donations.

The only problem these days is that whenever you pass neighbour-boy in the hallway, he doesn’t make eye contact or utter a word to you, and you’re really starting to wish you’d left a note or a letter on those trays when they were still being delivered to your doorstep. The first few days, you played dumb when you passed each other in the halls because you didn’t want to embarrass him, and honestly, you were still kind of waiting on a formal apology – but this has been going on for a week now and you just cannot stand the awkward tension in the air when you see each other, or how he hides behind that damn plant and waits to take the next elevator just so he doesn’t have to be alone with you in a confined space.

(To be fair, that last one could be because you’ve been sick out of your mind until recently. But it still pisses you off to see him hovering behind the potted fern, especially when the plastic foliage barely conceals him. You’re not blind. And now you’ve come to hate elevators.)

So like the mature adult you are – screw whatever your ex had to say to you – you now find yourself outside your neighbour’s apartment, hand poised to knock, when suddenly you hear through the polished oak door:

“So I was spying on them from the corner and it turns out she got dumped that night by this total jackass. It sounded like a really ugly breakup too, she was crying on the floor where he works. Yeah, I know, even _I_ felt bad for her, it sounded pretty pathetic… Why was he at her apartment? That’s the worst part, he was just picking up his camera for a date with this other girl, I swear this woman has the saddest love life I’ve ever–”

The door swings open and your neighbour stops dead in his tracks, his phone still resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He’s wearing his signature mask – seriously, will you ever see the bottom half of his face? – but behind it, you’re pretty sure he’s gaping like a fish.

You, on the other hand, can barely conceal your disgust. You didn’t think it was possible to feel even more pathetic than you already do, but apparently the universe just loves to prove you wrong.

“You were spying on me?” you say, and you can hear your voice wavering already, but you ignore it and force yourself to carry on. “You know what? I came here to say thanks for the food and tell you that you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought you were, but it looks my life is just full of disappointments lately.”

You laugh, the sound void of any humour.

“What am I saying – you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Without another word, you open the door to your apartment and slam it behind you. The way it rattles reminds you of your last encounter with your ex, but you banish the thought from your mind.

* * *

Sakusa really isn’t sure where he went wrong. He doesn’t apologize a lot – maybe once when he was ten and broke his mother’s tea pot, or in high school when he burned a hole in his brother’s favourite jeans by trying to clean them with bleach – so it had taken a while just to muster up the courage to speak to you. Even then, he wasn’t sure what he would say, hence why he’d decided to call Komori for advice. Sakusa has been ignoring his texts now, mostly because after you stormed off, all Komori said was, “Dang, that’s rough, buddy. Make sure you pick up tomatoes for me at the supermarket.” Then he _hung up._

Sakusa picked the most wrinkly, speckled bag he could find out of spite. He hopes they gave Komori food poisoning.

If he’d known things would turn out this way, Sakusa would’ve just apologized to you sooner, even if it meant fumbling over his words like an idiot. Maybe then you wouldn’t have grown sick waiting for him and decided to make the first move. The last thing he expected to see as he was leaving the house for his weekly grocery run was you outside his apartment hearing every word he was divulging to his cousin through the phone.

He was so shocked that he hadn’t even had time to feel embarrassed about you knowing that he was the one who left you food every night. See, that’s another thing. If _he_ had known that _you’d_ known, he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of hiding behind that damn plant every time just to make sure you took the food inside with you.

Another week has passed since the day you caught him on the phone, and Sakusa is starting to grow restless. He feels guilty for avoiding you all through that week when he was dropping off food at your doorstep, because he realizes now what a crappy feeling it is to be shouldered past in the hallway, ignored when he knocks on your apartment door, and – worst of all – see you _use his_ _own tricks against him_ as you hide behind that stupid potted plant to wait for the next elevator.

So he decides to bring it full circle.

It happens one day when he’s leaving his apartment for practice, duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he waits for the elevator. He hears you coming out of your apartment and locking the door as you argue with a co-worker through the phone, your voice getting louder as you approach.

“No, the Hong Kong project was supposed to go to our team this quarter. What do you mean? They gave it to Natural Resources? You’ve got to be kidding me! _We_ were the ones who pitched it last meeting! Wait no, don’t put him on the– Uh, hi, Mr. Kimura, I heard that your team is taking the Hong Kong deal. No, it’s not that I think it’s _unfair,_ I just–”

You’re so distracted that, as you round the corner, you fail to see Sakusa running to hide behind that cursed plant, bulky duffel bag and all. He would laugh at how quickly your voice changes when you’re talking to a superior – all fake smiles and pretty words – but he’s not willing to blow his cover and be accused of spying on you again.

As soon as the elevator doors open and you step inside, Sakusa bolts from his hiding place to join you in the lift, jamming the button to close the doors before you can even realize what's going on. Internally, he cringes at the fact that he didn’t spray the elevator panel with disinfectant first. He must be a lot more desperate than he thought.

On that note, he’s also a lot more nervous than he’d care to admit. This feels like the kind of half-baked, spur of the moment idea Hinata would come up with, and Sakusa feels so far out of his comfort zone that part of him debates whether he should just get off on the next floor and pretend this never happened.

Just as soon as the thought appears, Sakusa banishes it from his mind, instead turning to look at you. Your eyes are wide and you’re stammering some excuse into the phone so you can end the call as soon as possible.

“Um, you know what? It’ll be easier to discuss in person. I’ll be at the office in twenty minutes, see you then.” You hang up the phone abruptly, and once the initial shock subsides, your eyes narrow and you scowl at him. Sakusa estimates that he probably has about thirty seconds to make his case.

He takes a deep breath and launches into his apology.

“Look, I’m sorry for everything I said to you the first night – you were obviously shaken up already, and I shouldn’t have lost my temper. And I’m sorry for eavesdropping on you and your ex last week, that one was really an accident. I just happened to be there and I was only going to stay long enough to see that you were okay, because you were crying and sneezing and coughing so loudly the nights before that it was hard to sleep.”

For a moment, your eyes darken even more, if that’s possible, and if Sakusa were a lesser man, he would flinch at the sight. But he can already see the frown marring your forehead begin to soften, so he carries on.

“And then you guys started talking, and things got kind of heated, and I thought it’d just be worse if I let you know I was there. I should have just walked away. I’m really, truly sorry.”

A minute passes in silence, during which all the tension in your body seems to dissipate, and you slouch against the wall. For some reason, your eyes just look tired now. Defeated, the way Sakusa’s do after losing a game.

“You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? I heard everything you said on the phone, you know.”

Sakusa thinks back to what he said on the call, mentally kicking himself. For a while, silence resumes in the elevator. Then your self-loathing kicks in, and you crack.

“It’s not like I can really blame you–”

“You’re not pathetic,” he blurts out.

Silence reigns once more. And then, for the first time since he’s moved here, Sakusa lowers his mask so you can hear every word he’s about to say.

“You just gave too much of yourself to a guy who didn’t appreciate you. And that was kind of naïve, but you’re not pathetic – because unlike him, you actually tried.”

Your eyes go wide, but you don't say a thing. In fact, neither of you exchange a word for the rest of the ride. Eventually, the elevator dings and the doors open to reveal the bustling lobby of your apartment complex. Sakusa pulls his mask back over his face and readjusts his duffel bag once more as he makes to leave.

“Sorry again. I won’t talk to you when we run into each other if you don’t want me to, so–”

“Wait!” Your arm shoots out to grab the sleeve of his jacket and this time, he really does flinch. You let go immediately though, which he appreciates, but your eyes are glued to the floor.

“Thanks for… you know, saying that just now. It really does make me feel better. Actually, that’s the first time someone’s said I wasn’t a complete idiot for putting up with him." Your hand comes up to rub at the back of your neck, as if you're embarrassed. "My friends just said they saw this coming and that I should’ve, too… So thanks.”

You raise your head to look at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thanks for the food, too. I’m sorry for sneezing on you that first night. And also for calling you an asshole… You’re actually okay.” The smile grows bigger until it finally reaches your eyes. It’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and for the first time since he’s known you, it dawns on Sakusa that you can actually look happy.

“Now can we please just interact like normal human beings? I don’t want to have to tiptoe around you for the next three years or however long we’re gonna live next door to each other. I’m (L/N) (Y/N), by the way,” you say, extending your hand to him.

Sakusa blinks. Then blinks again. You really want anything to do with him at this point? It seems too good to be true after all he’s been through the past two weeks, but it sure would be nice not to have you shove past him in the hallway. And really, it’s quite time-consuming to have to wait for the next elevator just to avoid you every day. Coach Foster has been _seriously_ questioning what the heck this move has done to him when, geographically, he’s so much closer to the gym now.

So he nods at you in lieu of a handshake and introduces himself properly.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're in the wrong place at the wrong time during a 4AM fire alarm. But hey, what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhh, I couldn't help myself! Here's chapter 4. Please enjoy. :)

You used to think there was nothing worse than waking up to the sound of your 6AM alarm every day to get to work.

Now though, as you stumble out of your bed half-asleep with the piercing sound of the fire alarm echoing down the halls, you realize how wrong you were. You glance at the clock on your bedside table. It flashes the numbers _4:07,_ as if it’s mocking you. _Bet you wish you had those extra two hours now, huh?_ You groan and feel around the wall for the light switch, not intent on burning alive here.

Isn’t there a question on every personality test that asks, ‘ _What would you grab in a fire?’_ You’ve done enough of them with your friends to last a lifetime, so why now are you drawing a blank?

There’s not exactly time to take much, so you grab your phone off the nightstand, your house keys off your desk, and rush out to the living room to grab your purse off the couch, shoving both items inside. You thank the Lord that you left your laptop at work last night, hastily slinging the bag over your shoulder as you hurry to the foyer and jam your feet into a pair of flip-flops. For a moment, you think about the high school photo albums still on your bookshelf and the snow globe your parents brought back from Iceland, but you shake your head. There isn’t time.

You’re still doubting your choice of essentials when you emerge into the hallway, but one glance at Sakusa, who’s slamming his front door shut just beside you, and the thought is wiped from your mind.

Admittedly, seeing him leave every morning in a tracksuit with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder was kind of annoying the first month. It made you feel guilty for staying home every night to watch TV instead of going to spin classes with your coworkers, or playing basketball with your friends, or heck, even attending Pilates with your landlady. She’s invited you so many times too, and you always make some BS excuse, promising to take a rain check that you have no intention of actually following up on.

So yes, you feel guilty for looking down on Sakusa’s gym rat habits, because clearly, whatever he’s doing has _worked._ You almost forget that it’s 4AM, the fire alarm is ringing, and the entire building is evacuating, because you’re just too busy ogling a shirtless and very annoyed Sakusa as he and the other tenants herd you towards the exit stairs.

As you all clamber through the hallway, you notice that although Sakusa is bare from the waist up, he apparently had time to grab his mask? He must sleep with it on or something, otherwise he just has a very strange set of priorities. You don’t know which possibility is weirder, but they both seem equally likely.

“Excuse me, trying to get through!”

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

“Every man for himself, move it, losers!”

As the more zealous tenants shove past you, Sakusa, and each other, you can tell that your clean freak neighbour’s on the verge of a mental breakdown, the skin-to-skin contact with all these people doing little to calm his nerves in what is already a pretty stressful situation. You try your best to weasel through the sea of bodies separating you from him, ducking under arms and murmuring half-hearted apologies until you find yourself at his side, finally reaching the stairwell.

He, as you expected, is finding this situation rather difficult to deal with – for all the wrong reasons.

“Oh my God, this is even worse than the hallway. It’s so poorly ventilated in here, I bet we’re all breathing air that was in another person’s mouth.”

“Sakusa, you’re already wearing a mask, doesn’t that filter it somewhat?”

He doesn’t even seem to hear you, wrapping his toned arms around his broad chest as he shudders.

“I’m gonna have to scrub my entire body down in the shower at least four times once this is all over. Even then, it’s going to feel like there’s dirt clinging to me all week.”

You roll your eyes. Whatever weird thoughts you had about seeing him half-naked have vanished, and your patience is wearing thinner and thinner as he continues on his tirade of why these escape stairs should be disinfected on a monthly basis.

“Oof!” You grunt as you're pushed to the side by the middle-aged woman who lives on the fifth floor. You rub the rapidly forming bruise on your shoulder, doing your best to stick to the wall to prevent further mishaps, but they just keep coming.

It’d be nice if you could be built like a brick wall like Sakusa. In the pandemonium that is the fire escape stairwell, you find yourself shoved every which way by people old and young, big and small. Even the landlady’s grandson, 4’11” and eighty pounds, pushes you out of the way, yelling, “Move it, hippo!” as he races down the stairs. You wore that onesie to take out the trash _one time._ Kids hold onto blackmail material for life.

Within ten minutes, you’ve already lost Sakusa in the crowd, which makes things even worse, because at least you could hide behind him to avoid being smushed by the other tenants. Now there really isn’t anything to shield you from the onslaught of frantic, sweaty bodies all scrambling down the stairs like their life depends on it – it sort of does, but you are pissed nonetheless. You wonder if this is what Mufasa felt like in that stampede. You sure hope not – it did _not_ end well for him.

“Oh my God, we’re all gonna die!”

Fifth-floor lady’s _husband_ has apparently taken a page out of his wife’s book as he pushes past the people behind you. However, unlike his wife, he weighs three hundred pounds, which does not bode well as he slams into you from behind and sends you flying down the stairs.

You wonder if in your past life, you were some kind of Olympic gymnast gifted with spellbinding grace and unwavering physical coordination.

The irony would make your clumsy forward somersaults down the stairs a hell of a lot funnier.

 _Thump._ On your knees.

 _Thump._ There goes your back.

 _Thump-thump-thump._ Your butt stutters the rest of the way down, and you end up at the bottom of the landing with what you’re sure is a boatload of bruises and maybe a bone fracture. Meanwhile, the fifth-floor bozo who collided into you rushes past, and you wonder briefly if this is what a hit-and-run feels like. You could totally sue him for this, right?

That’ll have to wait. Both of your knees are bruised, there’s a searing pain in your left shoulder, and your tailbone in particular hurts like a little bishounen.

Truth be told, you’ve never been that close to any of your neighbours in the first place, but you decide right here and now that you want absolutely nothing to do with them. _Ever._

Mostly because, even though you’re splayed on the floor writhing in pain, _no one has stopped to help._ They’ve all just side-stepped past you, which has you immediately thinking back to the night of your breakup when the _exact_ same thing happened. Either people have grown especially awful as of late, or there’s just something about you that puts them off. You can’t help but think that both options are equally likely.

Eventually, the people passing you trickle down to none, and you begin to come to terms with the fact that you’re going to die here. Just then, a familiar masked, shirtless figure appears on the landing above you, descending the stairs like a guardian angel that’s come to your rescue. You smile hopefully. At least there’s one neighbour you can always rely on.

…That thought disappears as Sakusa _steps over you_ to continue down the stairs.

Did that really just happen? He must be messing with you. _He has to be._

“Sakusa, come back here and help me, you asshole!”

You hear his footsteps stop. He mumbles something under his breath – cursing you out most likely – and the footsteps resume, growing louder and louder and closer and closer until finally, his masked face appears before you, brows furrowed and the dark bags under his eyes an exact replica of your own. He just stands there for a minute, as if coming to terms with a truly unsavoury reality. Maybe for him, it is. He shakes his head, and whether the gesture is meant for you or himself, you can’t really tell.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says. He turns so that his back is facing you and squats down. You raise an eyebrow.

“Well? Get on, I don’t want to burn alive in here.”

Oh. Is your neighbour Sakusa Kiyoomi offering you a _piggy-back ride?_

Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around Sakusa’s broad shoulders, barely suppressing a squeal as his own come under your thighs to hoist you up onto his back. He stands up immediately as if you weigh nothing and continues his way down the stairs at a pace that’s probably faster than your own, even when you were uninjured.

“Didn’t take you for the type to give piggy-back rides.”

“This way if I slip, you can cushion my back, neck and skull.”

“What about mine?”

“That’s the travel fee, sorry.”

You grimace, deciding not to dignify that last remark with a response. As you rest your chin on Sakusa’s shoulder, you notice that he smells like a mix of Lysol and that grapefruit-scented skincare pack you bought your coworker for the Secret Santa exchange last Christmas – the one with the deep-cleaning facial cleanser and mineral scrub that you were tempted to keep for yourself.

“You owe me big-time for this, I hope you know.”

You feel all the blood in your body rush to your face. Your adrenaline and rage-fuelled bravado from earlier are nowhere to be found as you remember that Sakusa is effectively still a stranger whom you’ve forced to carry you down the stairs like a pack mule.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Thanks. And, um… sorry for calling you an asshole again, it’s just sort of a habit at this point.”

“I’m used to it.”

An awkward silence reigns after that, during which your face grows warmer, if that’s even possible. You’re suddenly glad that it’s dark and Sakusa can’t see you, because you’re quite sure you resemble an overripe tomato at this point. It doesn’t help that Sakusa smells clean and fresh, or that you’re pressed up against his bare skin right now.

Sakusa starts huffing and puffing, and for a minute you panic thinking you’re too heavy for him after all, but when you lean forward to check if he’s okay, you notice that one of his curls has fallen into his eyes and he’s just trying to blow it out of his face. Ha. A lot of good that’s gonna do him.

You reach to tuck the lock of hair behind his ear, but in the process, you end up poking your finger into his eye and he _freaks._

“Oh my, gosh…! Are your hands even clean? The eyes are the facial orifice most susceptible to infection! God, I should’ve just left you there!”

…Okay, false alarm. Whatever weird feeling stirring in your chest disappears immediately, and the heat in your cheeks is gone by the time you and Sakusa emerge into the cool darkness of the night to join the others.

Fire trucks line the street, the flashing lights of their sirens overpowering the dim street lamps as they illuminate every inch of your neighbourhood with an ominous red glow. Compared to the shrill screech of the fire alarm echoing endlessly in the enclosed stairwell, the ringing of the fire truck sirens is just a hum that fades into the background as Sakusa carries you over to the little lawn outside your apartment complex.

“Oh, you don’t have to carry me anymo–”

You fall to the ground with a _plop_ as Sakusa dumps you on the grass. Sure, it provides a little bit of a cushion as opposed to the rock-hard concrete, but it’s still sudden enough that you don’t have time to brace yourself, and now the bruises on your back are crying out in agony.

As you rub your sore tailbone, you notice Sakusa peering up at the fire truck ladder, which is currently leading up to what you estimate is a floor or two above your own. A firefighter descends, and as he enters your field of vision, you notice that he looks a lot… cleaner than you were expecting. Where’s the ash in his hair, the smoke staining his face and uniform? Are those just details Hollywood puts in for the heck of it?

When the firefighter finally returns to the ground, he looks less than thrilled. You see him approach your landlady, who’s just shivering in her little old lady nightgown, bless her heart.

“Sakusa, can you carry me over there? I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“I’ve already done my good deed for the year, you’re on your own.”

You roll your eyes. Getting on your hands and knees, you crawl over to where the firefighter is engaging in what must be a pretty heated conversation with your landlady, if the twitch in his eye is anything to go by. The concrete beneath your hands is already scraping at the soft skin of your palms. Luckily, by the time you’re about ten feet away, you’re within earshot.

“A smoke alarm? On the seventh floor?”

“Yes, ma’am, it seems the tenant in 707 was baking and set off the smoke alarm in his apartment. I don’t know what kind of fire safety training he’s had, but he panicked and ran into the hall to pull the manual fire alarm box.”

…This has got to be a joke.

You’re out here with a bruised body _and_ ego because some guy burned his snickerdoodles at the crack of dawn and decided to alert everyone in the building?

“Are you _kidding_ me?” A voice from behind you startles you out of your thoughts and you peer up to see Sakusa, scowling. If he was going to spy on them too, why couldn’t he have just carried you over here?

“What _idiot_ would do this?” he says, and for once you agree.

“Mrs. Takahashi, I’m _so_ sorry for pulling the alarm!”

A young man with spiky salt-and-pepper hair comes bounding over to your landlady, dressed only in an apron, gym shorts, and flip-flops. Hmm. Maybe the universe is trying to pay you back for your dastardly love life by giving you some shirtless boys to ogle.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

You peer over your shoulder again to look at Sakusa. All the life seems to have drained from his eyes and his shoulders are slouched forward, as if he wants nothing more than to collapse in on himself. Spiky Hair overhears him and looks over, eyes widening.

“Omi-omi? You live here too?”

You snort, but before you can comment, Sakusa storms back inside your apartment complex with the other residents.

He returns minutes later with an even bigger scowl on his face, muttering under his breath as he helps you to your feet and supports you as you limp to the front entrance.

“Omi-omi, huh?”

“Call me that again and I’m pushing you down the stairs.”

“You’re a little late for that, bud.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night's fire alarm leaves both you and Sakusa a little worse for wear. A spur-of-the-moment carpool leads to absolute disaster, but our heroine tries to amend things as best she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Big thank-you to everyone who has read, liked, and commented on this story so far, you guys are the best!! Please enjoy this next chapter. It's a fun one! ^_^
> 
> (WARNING: DO NOT FALL ASLEEP WITH ICE PACKS ON YOUR BODY!!! I found this out after writing the chapter, but apparently it can lead to serious nerve damage. Do not pull a (Y/N) you guys!!!)

By the time you got back to your apartment last night, it was a quarter past five and you had seriously debated just staying up and starting your morning routine early.

However, with your adrenaline gone and your body still aching all over, you succumbed to sleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, frozen peas, corn, and carrots lying atop your bruises to ease the pain.

Turns out you should’ve just stayed awake, because apparently, your body was so damn tired from the fire alarm last night that you didn’t hear your _actual_ alarm go off.

Instead, you wake to the feeling of cold water pooling on your legs from the thawing vegetables, and as soon as you cross into the threshold of consciousness, you remember – oh crap – you have work today. Immediately, you jolt up from the bed and turn to your clock, praying to God that it’s still before 6.

 _7:26 AM._ Oh crap.

Your sales team wasn’t happy when you took that sick day a month ago, but now you have a vague premonition they’re going to banish you to Textiles, where all the stylish women will mock your questionable fashion taste. The five of you are supposed to give a presentation on Phase 1 of the Hong Kong car parts project first thing this morning, and Natural Resources is just _waiting_ for you to slip up so they can swoop in like the vultures they are and steal it.

(They’re more like seagulls really – obnoxiously loud, ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger, and the ones most likely to ruin a beach day by being whiny losers. Everyone knows it – they’re the ones who punctured the beach ball “accidentally” at the company retreat last year after losing three straight rounds of beach volleyball.)

You scramble out of bed, still sore but too distracted by the looming threat of a team transfer and Kimura’s smug face to really care at this point. You’re still pulling up your dress pants as you stumble into the bathroom, where you splash water on your face and towel it off so aggressively that some of the towel fibres end up in your mouth. There’s no time to worry about it now.

By the time you emerge into the hallway, still tugging on your shoes and buttoning your blouse, your watch reads _7:35_ , and you curse aloud because your usual train left five minutes ago. The next one won’t be here until 8:30, and you need to get to the office by 8:15.

Just as you finish shrugging on your blazer and locking the door, Sakusa bursts out of his apartment, mask askew and duffel bag half-zipped. You know you ought to feel sorry for him, but misery loves company, and apparently, that also applies to next-door neighbours both running late this morning.

At least he doesn’t have a train to catch – you don’t think he does, anyway. The very thought of Sakusa exposing himself to the public part of public transportation is laughable, and – wait. That just might work in your favour.

“Sakusa, you… drive to the gym, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“You do? Oh my gosh, can you please, _please_ give me a ride? I’ll owe you forever.”

“You already owe me for carrying you down three flights of stairs last night. I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for favours right now.”

“Come on! Where’s your gym?”

He’s silent for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Aoyama,” he mutters.

“I’m right on your way, this is a sign! Please, please, _please,_ Sakusa, I have a presentation today on a project I’ve been working on for months, and I just know Kimura’s gonna steal it from us if we screw up. Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly that you slaved over it day-and-night for weeks on end? If I fail, at least let me go down with a fight!”

Something you say must strike a chord in Sakusa, because he just sighs and mumbles over his shoulder for you to follow him. Five minutes later, you find yourself in the underground parking lot next to his silver Lexus.

 _Twenty_ minutes later, you’re beginning to think you would’ve been better off on the train as you and Sakusa finish wiping down the inside of his car with the rubbing alcohol and paper towels kept conveniently in his backseat. When you finally climb into the passenger side, the plastic seat cover crinkling stiffly under your still-sore tailbone, it’s 8:00 and you pray to God that Sakusa can just get you to work on time.

Oh, but while you’ve got him, you might as well ask.

“Do you think you’d want to join me and Mrs. Takahashi for Pilates sometime?”

Sakusa has just pulled out of the underground parking lot, and though he doesn’t say a word, the dead-pan expression on his face as he side-eyes you is answer enough.

“Come on, she loves you!” You hope the fake grin on your face is enough to convince him. She really doesn’t, but you don’t want to go alone and embarrass yourself in front of your landlady and all her grandma friends with your lack of physical coordination. Maybe if Sakusa’s there, they’ll be too busy drooling over his Greek God body to notice you falling over during the kneeling side kicks.

Sakusa hums thoughtfully, and while you wait on a response, you open the glove compartment out of curiosity. In it, there’s half a bottle of antibacterial hand soap and a Ziploc bag stuffed with about a dozen travel-size bottles of sanitizer. Why wouldn’t there be?

Upon closer inspection, you recognize the soap as the same discontinued brand your mom used to buy, _Takane no hana._ The hand-drawn flowers and green ivy on the peeling label make you think of the bubble baths from your childhood, as well as that time in middle school when you slipped in the shower and broke your arm. (That one’s not a very fond memory.)

“You use this too? I haven’t seen this stuff since I was in high school,” you say, turning the bottle around in your hands like it’s some ancient artefact.

Sakusa glances over to see what you’re holding. He nods.

“Yeah, I think that’s my last one. My family always used that brand at home, so I bought a bunch in bulk to take with me when I moved out.”

“And they’ve lasted up to now?”

“Yeah, but lately I can’t find the same brand anywhere. Careful with it. That stuff got me through four flu seasons in college, and whenever I get homesick, it helps me–”

You unscrew the top of the bottle to catch a whiff of white gardenias for the nostalgia run, but unfortunately, the lid comes off at the exact moment Sakusa hits a pothole.

You’re startled enough that you _squeeze_ the bottle, and soap explodes everywhere – in your nostrils, on the passenger seat, on the gear shift, inside the open glove compartment, and Sakusa screeches like a pterodactyl next to you as he violently pulls over onto the curb.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and assess the damage, while you snort out the soap in your nose and reach for the paper towel to blow out what remains of the sudsy mess. You wonder if this is what fanfic characters feel like when they come down with Hanahaki disease, but the thought is pushed to the back of your mind as overwhelming guilt fills you.

“I am so, _so_ sorry Sakusa, it was an accident, I just–”

“Save it,” he says, putting up a hand to stop the endless apologies on the tip of your tongue. “I’m too tired from last night to even yell at you.”

As he pulls out onto the street, you sheepishly bow your head and rip off some more of the paper towel to wipe down the rest of the car (you take it back, the plastic seat covers are a _godsend)._ Neither of you exchange a word for the rest of the ride, and you have just enough time to pat yourself dry before Sakusa pulls into your workplace.

You check your watch. _8:12,_ it reads by some miracle, and you’re so happy you could cry.

“Thank you so much, Sakusa,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “I’m so sorry again. I promise I’ll make it up to–”

“Just go.” His words are clipped as he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t even look at you, and at this point, it’s not like you can really blame him.

So you hop out of the car, shut the door behind you, and by the time you’ve limped to the front entrance, the silver Lexus is already gone.

You arrive at the boardroom just in time for your presentation, the dirty looks given to you by your team members not enough to deter you after all the chaos you’ve seen in the past four hours. Some of them question why you’re late, others wonder why you smell like a South African flower garden, but it’s all good because the scent reminds Director Sato – the executive head on this project and the woman Kimura has been trying to butter up for weeks – of her honeymoon. She’s all smiles, so the rest of the board is all smiles, and your presentation goes off without a hitch. You see that condescending smirk slip right off Kimura’s face, and you couldn’t be happier.

Except later, when you go out with your coworkers to celebrate, all you can think about is your royal screw-up in Sakusa’s car this morning, and your heart feels heavy. You return home that night still sore, now tipsy, and fully intent on making things right.

Countless Google searches, three eBay listings, two Reddit forums, and one email thread later, you locate the nearest stock of _Takane no hana_ hand soap, which, as it turns out, isn’t all that near.

It’s at some convenience store in _Miyagi,_ which is two hours away by bullet train – not outrageously far, but not close. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and you were originally planning on sleeping in after the fire alarm scare last night, but now you’re having second thoughts.

Images of Sakusa leaving food at your door, rescuing you from what could have been a life-threatening situation, and getting you to work in time to keep Kimura’s ditty mitts off your project come to mind, and you decide that, hey, you do kind of owe him.

So you book your ticket, ice your bruises again with some frozen asparagus, and retire for the night. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.

* * *

You’re about an hour into your train ride when you get a call on your cell phone, which normally wouldn’t be an issue.

Except right now, as fate would have it, your ringer is on and set to full volume, meaning the Death Note OP is currently _blasting_ through the otherwise silent bullet train.

 _♪_ _Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri!_ _♫_

 _♫_ _Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara!_ _♪_

“(Y/N)? It’s Sakusa, I got your number from Mrs. Takahashi. We’re meeting next month for Pilates at–”

“I _really_ can’t talk right now, call you back later!”

The sleeping baby next to you is now wide-awake and _bawling_ as his mother yells at you, all the occupants of the train now turning to watch. You apologize profusely and just nod your head when she describes you as inconsiderate and totally uneducated on proper etiquette. She concludes her rant by saying, with more than a little contempt, “Those clothes are absolutely horrendous! Even if you hadn’t woken my son, he’d cry just from seeing your ugly polyester pants.”

That last one hits a little close to home, but you just bow your head politely and offer to move to the back of the train so you won’t disturb her or her baby for the rest of the ride. To be fair, it’s more out of self-preservation than anything – your pride and sanity are already waning, and it isn’t even noon – but she doesn’t have to know that.

When you arrive in Miyagi, you reckon you have about an hour to get to the store for the agreed-upon meeting time. An hour and fifteen minutes, maybe, if Ukai Keishin is as kind and patient in real life as he is over email.

However, as you make your way down the street, you begin to lose confidence.

All the roads in Miyagi look exactly the same, and although the scenery is beautiful, being surrounded by rolling green hills in every direction doesn’t do much for your already poor sense of direction. A crow flies overhead, cawing at you condescendingly as if it just _knows_ you’re an outsider.

This is going to be a lot harder than you thought.

* * *

Sakusa doesn’t know a lot about you, even after spending two months as your next-door neighbour, so when you hang up the first time, he dismisses it as just catching you at the wrong place, wrong time.

However, each subsequent phone call is about as productive as the last, and if anything, they just seem to be getting weirder.

“(Y/N), we’re meeting at a place called _Hard ‘Core’ Workouts_ , but–”

“Bad time, Sakusa! Sawamura-san, he’s getting away! My train ticket’s in that purse, I can’t get home without it!”

Sakusa is startled, but he tries again a half hour later.

“(Y/N), are you there? What days work for you? I can only do weekends and not in the morning, so–”

“Agh! No, no, no, that’s never gonna wash out! Hey, Suga-sensei! I don’t care if you’re friends with Sawamura-san – keep your kids in line!”

And again.

“(Y/N), check my messages. We need to pick a day and time that works for everyone so Mrs. Takahashi can book early enough to use her coup–”

“Shiitake on _toast_ , why does _everyone_ play volleyball in this town?”

He doesn’t bother trying again after that.

* * *

You’re safely on your way home now, thanks to Sawamura-san. Leave it to you to be mugged first-thing in a picturesque, unassuming countryside town. That thief had slipped right past you, but before he could even turn the street corner, Sawamura had caught him like a true neighbourhood hero and returned your purse, train ticket and other belongings tucked inside safe and sound. Your encounter with his friend Sugawara hadn’t ended so well.

Ruefully, you peer down at your _ugly polyester pants_ , which have been made even more hideous by the smattering of purple staining the white fabric. Right on your crotch, too. It could have been worse, you suppose – Suga-sensei could have been handing out apple juice today instead of grape, in which case you really would’ve just cut your losses and hitchhiked back to Tokyo.

Outside, the rays of the setting sun kiss the horizon oh-so beautifully as the Miyagi scenery passes by your train window. Unfortunately, you’re too busy nursing a new bruise on your forehead to appreciate the view. What was that girl’s name again? Natsu? She was short, but she sure could jump. That spike to the face hurt like hell, and you’re pretty sure this ice bag you got from the train staff isn’t nearly as effective as your own frozen vegetables.

“At least I got what I came here for,” you mumble to yourself, affectionately patting the two boxes of _Takane no hana_ rare white gardenia antibacterial hand soap next to you. There’s no need to worry about a sleeping baby in your vicinity this time. The two boxes take up the seat beside you, and four more occupy the pair of seats across the aisle. You got a couple dirty looks from the other passengers as they walked by, but at this point, you’re too tired to care. You figure you’ll need to convince the train staff to let you use their snack trolley to wheel the soap out of here, but you’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

That bridge arrives, burning and on the verge of collapse, when your train finally pulls into Tokyo station. The automated voice announcing your arrival rouses you awake from your nap, and you wipe the drool off the corner of your lip before waving down the nearest attendant to ask an odd favour.

“I’m sorry Miss, we can lend you the trolley to move your cargo outside the train, but it has to be returned here before the doors close again. And that’s in... five minutes,” she tells you, looking at her watch impatiently. It’s not like you can even blame the woman; she’s just doing her job. Still, you aren’t thrilled at the prospect of having to move six boxes of hand soap out of the station all on your own.

So you call the only person you can…

“Sakusa? Sorry, I’ll be home in, like, a half hour, we can pound out the details for Pilates then. Yeah, today was crazy, sorry.”

…An Uber driver 500 metres away, because you have grown thoroughly disenchanted with cabs after the night of your breakup. You go to meet him outside and offer to pay a two thousand yen tip if he’ll please, _please_ help you move half a dozen boxes of soap to the car, and though he’s wary at first, he agrees.

Unfortunately, as soon as the two of you have gotten the boxes into the lobby of your apartment complex, he gets a call to pick up some bar-hopping college kids down in Shinjuku, so you’re forced to call Sakusa to help with the rest.

“(Y/N)? What is all this?” he says as he steps out of the elevator, gesturing to the tower of boxes next to you. “Ew, why are your pants stained?”

“It’s a long story that I don’t have the time or energy to tell right now. Please help me get these to the elevator. They’re for you.”

“What? What’s in here?”

You open one of the boxes and pull out a bottle of soap identical to the one you obliterated in his car yesterday. You hold it in front of him and Sakusa leans forward to peer at it, squinting to read the label.

“ _Takane no hana?_ How? Why?”

“Took a bullet train to Miyagi this morning, had a _wild_ time there, and bought off the entire supply from Sakanoshita Store in Torono. Why? Because I destroyed your last bottle, and you said this stuff helps curb your homesickness.”

“You remembered that?”

“Yeah, you said it right before you hit that pothole and I shot your soap to hell. I also owe you for, like, multiple favours at this point. Consider this my way of making it up to you.”

You’re about to clap Sakusa on the shoulder when you remember who you’re dealing with, and settle for a head nod instead, like the cool kids on high school TV shows. Sakusa just stares at the boxes next to you, his gaze flickering over to you briefly before returning to the soap.

“Don’t just stand there! I’ll take half, you take half. Come on, let’s get these to your apartment so I can go collapse in mine and sleep for twenty-four hours.”

Stooping over, you grab the top three boxes off your tower, groaning at the pain still lingering in your left shoulder. You’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

Sakusa’s hand.

You suppose this shouldn’t be as big of a deal as it is, considering you were pressed up to his bare back two nights ago, but the atmosphere feels different. Sakusa’s touching you _voluntarily._ In a non-crisis situation.

“Sakusa?”

His eyes are glued to the ground, but his hand doesn’t move.

“…Thanks,” he says, so softly you almost don’t catch it.

Before you can say another word, he takes the three boxes from your arms and heads to the elevator. Your eyes linger on his retreating back for a moment before you snap yourself out of your stupor, lift the remaining boxes off the floor, and join him.

“So, we still on for Pilates next month?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally follow up on your landlady's offer to go to Pilates. Sakusa tags along out of solidarity, but as usual, things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this story so far. You guys mean more to me than you'll ever know! ^_^ For those of you wondering, I've decided to stick to the weekly update schedule for now. I'm currently hammering away at the last third of this story, but the later chapters are all around 8K+, so it's been taking quite some time. Thank you so much for your patience! :)
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: "Piratisu" is the Romaji for the Japanese pronunciation of Pilates, according to Google Translate.
> 
> Alright, that's it from me. Please enjoy this latest chapter!! It's a fun one. ;)

“Hey, hit me with that isopropanol!”

Sakusa stops wiping down the steering wheel long enough to chuck a bottle of rubbing alcohol at you as you approach. After carpooling with him for a month, Sakusa dares to say that you’ve finally gotten the hang of his cleaning routine. He doesn’t even have to hover behind your shoulder to make sure you get in the cracks between the seats anymore.

It’s a mutual exchange, he figures. Hitching a ride with Sakusa lets you sleep in a little longer on weekdays, and also prevents you from being exposed to all the sick people on the train. Sakusa counts the latter as a win on his part, because if you get sick, he could get sick, and he really doesn’t want to have to avoid you in the elevator again to protect himself from your germs.

“Did you send the extra soap bottles to your parents?” you ask from the passenger side, wetting a paper towel with alcohol to disinfect the door handles.

“Yeah.”

"What about your older brother?”

“He didn’t raise me.”

“And Komori?”

“I sent him one.”

“One box?”

“One bottle.”

“Little cheap of you, don’t you think?”

“You get one too.”

“One bottle?”

“One box.”

You stop what you’re doing to peer up at him curiously. Sakusa pretends not to notice, busying himself with cleaning the grooves of the already pristine gear shift.

“Are you sure? That’s awfully generous, you don’t have to give me that much if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not just for you,” he replies, finally raising his head to meet your eyes. “Send some to your mom. You said she likes that stuff.”

Sakusa turns his attention back to the gear shift, but out of his peripherals, he can see you cock your head to the side before shrugging. You tear off another piece of paper towel and move to clean the backseat, tossing your gym bag next to his duffel while you’re at it.

Truth be told, Sakusa is a little apprehensive about joining you and Mrs. Takahashi for Pilates today, but since you said she invited him specifically, he would’ve felt bad about declining. Besides, now that Komori’s gotten a girlfriend, he’s been telling Sakusa to expand his social circle so he’ll have people to talk to when Komori’s busy. Sakusa will never admit it, but he’s still sore about his cousin cancelling movie night last week, especially when Sakusa had been holding off on that new Netflix volleyball documentary so they could watch it together.

He has zero regrets about sending Komori a single soap bottle.

When the inside of the Lexus is spotless (you think it looks exactly the same as when you started, but cleaning gives your neighbour some peace of mind, so you keep your mouth shut), you climb into the passenger side as Sakusa tucks the alcohol and paper towels snugly between your gym bags in the backseat. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you for a minute when he hears you hiss in pain. Immediately, his head shoots up to assess the damage, finding you rubbing your left shoulder with a grimace.

“Sorry, I bumped into the car door as I was climbing in,” you say. He frowns.

“You sure you’re okay for today? I know it’s been a month since the fire alarm, but you should still be careful.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Pilates isn’t a strenuous activity, so my doctor said it’d be okay. As long as I don’t get pushed down another flight of stairs, I should be fine.”

Sakusa still isn’t convinced, but he’s not going to make your decisions for you. So he shrugs, shuts the back door, and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“There’s no way in hell I’m carrying you again, just so you know. You’ll probably poke me in the eye like last time,” he says, adjusting his mask as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“It was dark! And I was just trying to help.”

“It wasn’t appreciated. Unless there’s a fire or flood, you’re on your own.”

You roll your eyes, muttering to yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and turn to look at the leaves changing colour through the window. Sakusa pays you no mind, turning on the radio to fill the silence. His taste in music is appalling, but thankfully, the drive is short. He pulls into the parking lot of the studio fifteen minutes later and you both head inside.

Sakusa’s not quite sure what he was expecting from this place. He appreciates the fact that the hardwood floors are so clean that they shine, and he has to admit that the bamboo furniture in the lobby is both eco-friendly and aesthetically cohesive with the hanging lampshades, but the potted orchids on the welcome desk and lifestyle magazines in the waiting area are a far cry from the plain white walls and metal water fountains of his usual gym. Instead of salonpas, the air is thick with the scent of lavender, green tea, and – oh, no, that’s right. Sweat is still sweat no matter where he goes.

“Looks like you’re pretty popular here. Not that there’s much competition to begin with,” you say, glancing around at all the women in the lobby staring at Sakusa and whispering to each other behind their hands. He’s been here all of five minutes, but one quick scan of his surroundings, and he can say with confidence that he’s the only male in the room.

Sakusa wonders if something was lost in translation when you told him about Mrs. Takahashi’s Pilates class, because he was under the impression that there’d just be a bunch of elderly women here talking about knitting. However, the young ladies surrounding him in every direction – they’re looking at him like he’s a piece of _meat,_ God – indicate that you were either pulling his leg or badly misinformed. He hopes it’s the latter, otherwise he’s not saving you from this place even if there’s a fire.

Or a flood, for that matter.

“Sakusa-san! (Y/N)!” Your landlady approaches with open arms, and when you catch sight of her, you beam and wrap her in a tight hug. Sakusa hopes he isn’t expected to do the same.

“Mrs. Takahashi! How are you? Thanks so much for inviting us,” you say, loosening your grip and leaning back so you can look at her.

“It’s my pleasure! I’m surprised you could make it, actually. You’ve had to reschedule so many times I was starting to think you would never show, (Y/N).”

You chuckle nervously at that, but Sakusa doesn’t care to comment. Instead of a bone-crushing hug, Mrs. Takahashi greets him with a smile and a nod – for which he is eternally grateful – before guiding you both to the changerooms.

The one good thing about being in a class full of women, Sakusa finds, is that he’s got the place all to himself for once. Hinata’s not so bad, but Bokuto and Atsumu are constantly yelling and knocking into things in the team’s locker room, especially after a big win. When they defeated the Adlers for the first time, Atsumu started singing _La cucaracha_ and convinced the rest of the team, save for Sakusa, to form a conga line right then and there. Some of the guys were only in _towels,_ and the whole thing went viral on social media.

When Sakusa emerges into the main studio, he sees two rows of yoga mats neatly set up, forming an aisle down the middle where a woman wearing a megawatt smile and a bright yellow nametag walks up and down, greeting everyone who comes through. _Piratisu,_ it says, and if that’s a joke, Sakusa hardly finds it funny.

He kicks aside one of the mats in the corner to make room for his own, the solid navy blue a stark contrast to the pastel prints and patterns that litter the rest of the studio. He bought it last week off Amazon, and even if he never attends Pilates again, he would say it’s a worthwhile investment – anything to not have to share germs and sweat with whoever used these mats last.

The sun streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling window on Sakusa’s left is already blinding him, but he considers it a small price to pay for this corner spot. This way, he’ll only have to sit next to one other person, and so long as it’s you or Mrs. Takahashi, he won’t mind.

…Except it looks like he’ll have to settle for you, since Mrs. Takahashi has just emerged from the changeroom and is apparently very, _very_ popular here. The swarms of women surrounding her are all smiling and joking as they guide her to a spot in the very centre of the room, just so they can all get a chance to talk to her. The sight reminds Sakusa of Atsumu’s fan club, the only difference being that his landlady doesn’t give him high blood pressure like his teammate does.

That’s fine. He’ll just sit next to you.

…Except class is about to start and you are absolutely nowhere to be found. What the heck is taking you so long? Is your shoulder giving you problems again? Or your tailbone maybe? You said you were fine though, and if some stranger takes this spot before you, Sakusa is not going to be happy.

And lo and behold, some stranger has just plopped her butt right on the mat beside him.

She looks over at Sakusa with what she must think is a sultry look, but frankly, he thinks the half-lidded eyes make her look dimwitted and the attempted smirk just screams constipated.

“You must be warm with that mask on, babe. Take it off so we can see your face, c’mon. If it’s half as nice as your body, I’ll give you my number and you can hit me up after class, hm?”

Sakusa doesn’t even bother to dignify that with a response, and he pulls the mask farther up his face in defiance.

“That spot is taken,” he says, using the same tone that Hinata says gives him the willies. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work on this woman.

“Hm? No, it’s not. I don’t see anyone here besides me, do you?”

“Look, I don’t want to make a scene, but if you don’t–”

“Welcome to _Hard ‘Core’ Workouts!_ Great to see our regulars again – looking at you, Takahashi-san – as well as some new faces!” Dammit Piratisu, _please_ shut up.

Sakusa tries to convince himself that you’re done with whatever was holding you up, and that you’re going to appear any moment now to save him from the she-demon making bedroom eyes on his right, but at this point, things are looking a little bleak.

“Sorry I’m late!” Ah, there you are.

Sakusa breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he hears your voice, but it’s short-lived as _Piratisu_ strikes again.

“Oh, hon, you’ve come just in time. Don’t worry, there’s one more mat right here!”

Sakusa is forced to watch in horror as the instructor directs you to the opposite side of the room, his jaw dropping so wide beneath his mask that he’s sure he’s dislocated it. Maybe that’s good. Maybe he can get out of here with a swift trip to the ER.

“Alright, beautiful people! Let’s start with some abdominal curls!”

…To hell with it, he decides. He promised you and Mrs. Takahashi that he’d attend this Pilates session, and he’s going to keep his word.

But besides that, why is there tissue paper up your nose?

* * *

At this point, you’re not even sure you can blame fifth-floor lady’s husband for your fall down the stairs anymore – at least not entirely. Honestly, with how physically uncoordinated you are, there’s a good chance you would’ve gone flying down the stairs that night even without a three-hundred pound man colliding into you from behind.

You really didn’t mean to be late. How _could_ you, especially with how many ‘rain checks’ you’d made prior to this with Mrs. Takahashi?

But even you couldn’t have predicted that you would drop your own water bottle in the changeroom, trip over it, and ram your face into the wall ten minutes before class started. Your nose had immediately started bleeding, but you would feel too bad if you cancelled on Mrs. Takahashi again when you were already here, so you’d pinched it for a few minutes before plugging it with tissue paper, rinsing the blood off your hands, and dashing out to the studio.

Fifteen minutes into the session, and your sloppy first aid seems to have been pretty successful.

You’ve gotten through ten reps of abdominal curls, twenty reps of bicycles, fifteen reps of donkey kicks, and honestly? You feel _great –_ you’re sweating, your heart rate’s up, and your blood’s pumping, thankfully not out your nose _._ The workout music and the positive reinforcement you’ve received from Piratisu are really making you feel like you’re living your best life, and you regret not accepting Mrs. Takahashi’s invitation earlier.

As you balance on your forearm for the next twenty reps of clams, you peer over to where your landlady is surrounded by her friends, the laugh lines around her eyes especially prominent as someone says, “Hey ladies, you down to get some pi- _lattes_ after this?” Maybe you’re becoming a cultured fitness snob too, because you chuckle along with the rest of the women at the subpar pun.

Peering over towards the other side of the room, you wonder if Sakusa’s having as great of a time as you are. It’s hard to tell with how far away he is, but even tucked into the corner, he sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re willing to bet anything that he brought that depressing navy blue mat from home, it’s so like him. Maybe you can go over and say hi once break is called.

“Excellent work everyone! Let’s take five, then we’re gonna hit it again with some toe taps!”

Oh. That went faster than you thought it would.

You fish the towel out of your gym bag to dab off the sweat that’s accumulated on your forehead, and copying the athletes on TV, hang it around your neck as you grab your now-dented water bottle for a long drink. You’re almost positive your nosebleed has stopped at this point, so you take out the tissue paper plug and throw it in the nearest garbage can as you head to the other side of the room to check on your neighbour.

Oh no. He’s not doing so well.

There’s a woman hanging off Sakusa’s arm and caging him into the wall, her whole body pressed into his as he tries to push her off without hurting her. His eyes look frantic, he’s short of breath, and you can tell the sweat dripping off his brow isn’t from the workout. She’s reaching her hand up to take off his mask now, and that’s when you decide enough is enough.

“Hey, leave him alone! You’re _clearly_ making him uncomfortable!”

The woman turns to you, disinterest painted on her face. She doesn’t move from where she’s standing.

“You can have your turn with him when I’m done, chill,” she says before returning her attention to Sakusa. You gag at her words, grabbing her arm before she can touch him again. As soon as you do, she swings at you, trying and failing to break free.

“Let go of me!”

“Let go of _him!”_

“Why? He’s a _guy_ , he doesn’t mind.”

“Yes, he does! You’re about to trigger an anxiety attack, are you blind?”

Some of the other patrons are beginning to look at the three of you and whisper now, but you barely notice, too occupied staring this woman down.

“Ugh, don’t be so _dramatic,_ he’s fine. Which is more than I can say for you if you don’t let _go_ of me, you little–”

The woman finally pulls her arm out of your grasp, rearing her hand back to slap you – but before she can, a new stream of blood starts flowing from your nose.

Dammit. You knew you should’ve kept that plug in.

“Oh my gosh, did Yuki-chan _hit_ her?”

“She must’ve! Look, she’s bleeding again, poor thing.”

“It’s her first time here too! I knew Yuki-chan was trouble. Maybe if we all vote on it, we can get her banned.”

The woman – Yuki-chan – goes red in the face, pulling back from Sakusa as she looks around the room frantically, met only with disapproving gazes. Her face crumples as she hurriedly packs her things, slings her duffel bag over one shoulder, and storms out of the studio, shoving past a returning Piratisu on her way.

“Yuki-chan? Yuki-chan!” Piratisu calls as she goes. She turns to look at your group, confusion written on her face. “Everything okay here, ladies?”

“(Y/N)’s nose started bleeding again, Sensei! Yuki-chan hit her,” your landlady says with a pout, the rest of her posse murmuring their agreement.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, (Y/N). Do you need to leave? We’ll refund you fully, no need to worry,” Piratisu says with a kind, if pitying, smile. You nod, your voice coming out nasally from how you’re pinching your nose.

“I think that’d be best, yeah. Sakusa’s my ride, so would you mind if I took him with me?”

“Of course, whatever you need. I’m so sorry again, I hope this doesn’t deter you from coming back. It’s usually such a warm, welcoming environment, but Yuki is… Well, she’s a little aggressive.”

You give a wry smile as you nod again. When you turn to Sakusa, you find him already staring at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He shakes himself out of his daze as he stoops to roll up his mat, pack his duffel, and accompany you to the other side of the room to help you gather your things. You tell him he doesn’t need to, but he insists on carrying your gym bag too.

By the time you make it inside his car, your nose is still gushing enough liquid to rival Nachi Falls, and you’re half-expecting Sakusa to kick you out right then and there, but he just supplies you with tissues wordlessly.

“Are you okay?” you say, your voice still nasal.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, pulling another tissue from the box he keeps in the car.

“Okay, I’m glad.” Now that that’s out of the way, you can ask the real questions. “What the hell happened back there, Sakusa? You had no problem telling me off the first night, so why couldn’t you stick up for yourself in front of that bimbo?”

He’s silent for a minute, and the way he refuses to meet your eyes makes you feel so bad that you decide you better just apologize. Before you have the chance, though, he answers.

“You and Mrs. Takahashi were having such a good time," he says softly. He goes silent again, and then he mutters, "I didn’t want to ruin it."

...Oh.

Oh, that makes you feel so much worse, but you can’t deny that the gesture is also sickeningly sweet.

“Sakusa, that’s really nice of you, but if you’re not comfortable, you need to say something. Yuki totally violated your physical boundaries. I don’t care if you’re a boy and she’s a girl – she was wrong, okay?”

You hope the seriousness of your words isn’t cheapened by the fact that your voice sounds like Donald Duck’s right now, but there’s not much else you can do. Luckily, Sakusa just nods.

“Okay. Thanks, (Y/N),” he says, and you can’t see it beneath his mask, but he smiles. He shifts the car into drive, and soon, the two of you are on your way home.

“You can pick the music this time," he offers.

Thank goodness. You’re not ready to spend another car ride listening to his nameless indie bands again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally discover what Sakusa does for a living, but only after a series of (admittedly valid) misunderstandings. Sakusa reevaluates your relationship during the team's trip to Belgium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you enjoy this update. :) Big thank-you to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented so far!! I'm having so much fun writing, posting, and talking to you guys, you have no idea!! ^_^

You take a hand off the steering wheel to tug your cardigan a little closer around your shoulders, the nip of the autumn air somehow still present even with the seat-heaters on in Sakusa’s silver Lexus. At least you’ll get to say you drove a luxury car once in your life. It’ll only be for thirty minutes to the airport and back as you drop him off for his flight, but it still counts.

“It’s so exciting you guys are going to Belgium! The best place my company’s sent me to was Okinawa for the annual retreat. Kimura’s team totally ruined the experience for everyone, though.”

“It’s just work, it’s not that exciting,” he says, and the answer makes you frown. Even if it was just for work, you’d kill to go to Europe, especially on an all-expenses-paid trip like Sakusa. If he’s this indifferent about it, he must not have a very fun job.

“Sakusa, what do you do for work, exactly? You never told me, so I just assumed you went to some normal office job after hitting the gym. Sort of like me, minus the workout,” you say, taking your eyes off the road for a moment to peer over at him. You find him already staring at you, a brow raised in confusion over the top of his mask.

“What do you mean? The gym _is_ where I work,” he says, and you immediately feel guilty for assuming he spent all his free time there because he had no other friends to hang out with.

“Um, that’s cool! Very, uh… cool. Do you work as an athletic trainer or something? For a specific sport, maybe?”

“Professional volleyball,” he replies, and yeah, you can definitely see that. You bet Sakusa screams like a banshee as he drills those poor souls on push-ups, sit-ups, wind sprints, and whatever the hell else volleyball players do to stay in such great shape. The fact that he’s actually training professional athletes is a surprise, though, and an impressive one at that.

“That’s amazing! What are the players like?” you ask.

Sakusa takes a moment to think about that one, silence reigning in the car as he leans back in his seat, considering. He finally responds a minute later.

“They’re all great to work with, but I’m only close to three of them outside volleyball. One is a womanizer, one burns cookies at four in the morning, and one is just super, super positive all the time – I really don’t know how he does it.” Sakusa pauses to shake his head. “There are also days when they all share the same brain cell, and it really gets on my nerves sometimes.”

“If even you’re saying that, they must be pretty chaotic,” you say, chuckling to yourself. You’re glad that Sakusa’s got friends at work, though – famous ones, too. You love your coworkers, but like you, they’re all pretty low on the swag meter. Maybe Sakusa can introduce you to the team some time, just so you can cross _meeting a celebrity_ off your bucket list.

“So you help them condition their bodies, right?”

“I… guess you could say that. I push them pretty hard in practice, but they keep me on my toes, too. Oh, we’re here. Thanks for driving, you saved me the long-term parking fee,” he says as the airport finally comes into view.

As you pull into an empty parking spot, you ask only half-jokingly, “Do you need me to go in with you? You can use me as a body shield to protect you against the crowds.”

Sakusa just scoffs.

“Right, because you handled crowd control so well during the fire alarm two months ago,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he unbuckles his seat belt. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

You wait for him to retrieve his luggage from the trunk before you wave goodbye through the car window, Sakusa returning the gesture with a nod. Only when you see him enter the terminal do you pull out of the parking lot to begin the trip back home. As you leave, you think you see a shock of salt-and-pepper hair running towards the airport, and it immediately reminds you of Snickerdoodles on the seventh floor, but that can’t be right. If it is, it must be just a coincidence.

* * *

When you return to the apartment, there’s a package outside your door waiting for you – an ivory gift box wrapped with a satiny pink ribbon. Tucked beneath the ribbon is a crisp white envelope covered in red hearts, and when you pull it out to examine, you see the words ‘ _To Kiyoomi, My Love’_ written on it in big, fancy cursive letters.

Looks like Sakusa isn’t single after all. Must be a long-distance relationship, considering you’ve never seen him bring a girlfriend or boyfriend to the apartment before. You wonder why the idea of Sakusa dating someone else makes you feel just a tad disappointed, but the thought is fleeting – more importantly, you have no means of contacting his significant other and telling them they’ve got the wrong address. But if it’s a one-time thing, it’s not a big deal, right?

Except it’s not a one-time thing. Another package arrives later in the evening, and you find three more at your doorstep after coming home from work the next day. You move the new arrivals to the rapidly growing stack of gifts in the corner of your living room, the colourful wrapping paper clashing with the rest of your monochrome apartment. It’s alright, you tell yourself – Sakusa will be back by the end of this week, and then you can dump all this junk on him.

Not that it’s _junk,_ per se – at least not all of it. There’s the usual stuff you’d expect from a significant other, like chocolates and love letters, but by the third or fourth day, there are value packs of umeboshi showing up on your doorstep, along with a six feet tall plushie of what appears to be a black dog. A wolf, maybe? And it’s only after you spend the better part of an hour lugging the thing into your apartment that you decide, hey, this is a little too much for one person to be sending unless they’re some kind of multi-millionaire. And although Sakusa is many things, you just can’t see him as a boy-toy for some rich old widow.

Is he a player then? Seems more likely, especially when you stop to examine all the cards and letters that have been sent to him – the handwriting on each is completely different.

You’re tempted to ask Sakusa yourself, but at the same time, you’d rather not be charged for an international call. Besides, you don’t really have the guts to ask in the first place – Sakusa’s just your neighbour, maybe a friend at this point. And the last thing you want to do is bother him while he’s away at a tournament. You’ve been to a professional fitness class just once, and only for half the allotted time, so you really have no idea what Sakusa does as an athletic trainer or how busy he might be because of it. If you’d thought to ask what team he works for before he left, you would’ve tried to catch their game on TV. Maybe you could’ve even seen Sakusa hovering around for a second or two in the corner.

Oh well. You can always catch a rerun later.

* * *

Sakusa has spent the last seven days cursing out the hellion who assigned roommates for the hotel, because whoever it was stuck him with frigging _Atsumu_ of all people.

Sakusa would take your post-breakup crying over Atsumu’s late-night phone calls to his girlfriend any day. Both make it impossible to sleep until well past midnight, but at least you don’t make him feel like gagging by whispering the words _sweetie, baby,_ and _darling_ in an obnoxious Kansai accent while giggling under the covers like a lovesick fool. Maybe Sakusa should be happy that Atsumu’s finally settled down with someone, but the fact that he still has to listen to him flirt 24/7 makes it hard to care.

Atsumu also has a bad habit of leaving food everywhere, which wasn’t a problem the first few days because the cleaning staff came by every afternoon to sweep away the mess. But during a late-night snack, maybe on the third or fourth day, Atsumu left a half-eaten onigiri on the floor, which Sakusa had the misfortune of _stepping on_ first thing in the morning. He’d been so, so tempted to just chuck Atsumu out of the fifteen-story window right then and there – he would’ve, too, but the Jackals had had a game that same afternoon and couldn’t afford to lose their setter.

However, the final straw comes when Sakusa walks into their shared bathroom to take a much-needed shower, only to find Atsumu slathering his hands and forearms in his rare white gardenia antibacterial hand soap from Miyagi. Something in Sakusa just snaps, and since their last game was today, he seriously does consider throwing his teammate out the window. Maybe then the Jackals will have an excuse to sign Kageyama next season.

“Atsumu, what the hell are you doing?!” Sakusa demands, crossing the bathroom in three long strides to snatch the bottle out of his teammate’s hands. Atsumu flinches, furrowing his brows at Sakusa not so much out of anger, but more out of confusion.

“What’s the big deal, Omi? Ya told me my B.O. was especially bad this morning, and this stuff makes me smell like a South African flower garden.”

Sakusa did indeed say that, and yes, the scent of white gardenias is a hundred times more pleasant than the smell of Atsumu’s sweat, but that really isn’t the point here.

“Do you know how precious this stuff is? Specifically this bottle?” he says, waving it in front of Atsumu’s face with one hand as he uses the other to point at the label aggressively. Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“No, should I?”

“This was a gift from a friend, so keep your filthy hands _off,”_ Sakusa growls, stooping down to tuck the soap bottle safely in the cabinet beneath the sink. Atsumu, on the other hand, is even more lost than he was before – as well as _offended._

“My hands aren’t filthy, ya just said this stuff is antibacterial! And what friend? Does anybody really hang out with you besides the three of us and Komori?”

Sakusa pauses in shutting the cabinet door, his forehead wrinkling into a frown. His shoulders stiffen, and he suddenly feels defensive, though he’s not sure why. With more force than necessary, he closes the cabinet before drawing himself up to his full height so that he towers over Atsumu.

“I have my neighbour,” he says.

“Your neighbour?” Atsumu asks disbelievingly.

“Yeah, we carpool.”

“And that’s enough for you to call them yer ‘friend’?” Atsumu arches one eyebrow accusatorily, shifting his weight to one leg as he looks Sakusa up and down. “Ya don’t even call _us_ yer friends, you reserve that label for Komori and Ushiwaka only.”

Sakusa snorts, even though the action always makes him feel undignified, like one of Atsumu’s squealing pigs.

“Yeah, because Hinata’s my junior, Bokuto’s a pet, and you’re the one I'd sacrifice to my sleep paralysis demon."

Atsumu’s lip curls into a sneer as he finally reaches over the sink to turn on the faucet. While rinsing the soap off his hands, he asks, “What makes your neighbour so special then, hm? Ya moved there like what – three, four months ago? That’s not long.”

Sakusa stops scowling at the ivory suds swirling down the drain to look up at Atsumu. He’s… actually not quite sure what to say to that, because for once, his teammate kind of has a point.

Memories of the past four months flicker through Sakusa’s mind, some sticking out more than others. He’ll never forget how you sneezed on him the first night, or avoided him for a week, or poked him in the eye during the fire evacuation, but you’ve come through for him a few times now, and he’s grateful for it.

“My neighbour went to the same hellish town that raised the freak duo just to buy that soap you’re using. It’s a rare, discontinued brand that’s wasted on you,” he says, beginning to strip down. As he pulls his shirt over his head, he adds, “She also saved me from being sexually assaulted, which is the exact opposite of what you did at the banquet last year, you manslut.”

Sakusa takes some small satisfaction in the scandalized expression Atsumu makes at that last comment, his eyes going wide as he sputters.

“Hey! I’ve turned a new leaf,” Atsumu says as he reaches for a towel to dry off his hands. “And I only introduced ya to Miki-chan that time because you looked so pitiful by yourself in the corner.”

“I was there on _purpose,_ you idiot. You of all people should know I hate crowds at this point,” Sakusa says as he climbs into the shower stall. The sweat and grime from their last game has been clinging to his skin for the past hour, and after dealing with Atsumu’s annoying ass, there’s nothing more he wants right now than to feel his body go numb beneath the steam.

“By the way, anything weird coming in the mail these days, Omi?”

The sound of the running water drowns him out completely.

* * *

 **You, 9:32PM:** _Hey, I’m here. U need me to go inside?  
_ **Sakusa, 9:34PM:** _No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. **  
**_ **You, 9:34PM:** _Can’t believe the only time u let me drive the Lexus is to pick u up. I forgot how much I hated waking up early for the train until this week T_T_  
 **Sakusa, 9:37PM:** _The only reason I’m letting you drive my car is because I absolutely refuse to ride in a cab. You never know who’s been in there before you or if their germs are still lingering on the seats and door handles.  
_ **You, 9:38PM:** _Yeah, I hate cabs too. For a different reason tho_

You place your phone in the cup-holder as you lean back in the driver’s seat and sigh, looking out the window to admire the bright lights that illuminate the airport runway outside. They seem to go on forever, extending endlessly into the distance to lead the way for yet another airplane as it descends from the sky.

There’s a knocking on the passenger window that steals your attention, and you unlock the doors so that Sakusa can let himself in.

“How was the tournament?” you ask as he climbs into the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt.

“It was okay. We got knocked out in the semi-finals, but I can tell we’re playing more cohesively than we did at the spring tournament in Seoul.”

“That’s good, congratulations!” You smile fondly as you pull out of the near-empty airport parking lot, catching a glimpse of Sakusa out of the corner of your eye. It’s endearing how he uses the word _we,_ like he considers himself part of the team too. He must have a really great relationship with the players, even if he is just their athletic trainer.

“Thanks,” he responds dryly, and for a few minutes, a content silence passes through the car.

You shatter it with little hesitation.

“So, Sakusa… you’re quite a popular guy, huh?”

Sakusa does a double-take and looks over at you like you’ve grown a second head, his eyes wide and disbelieving. You don’t understand what the big deal is. If he’s seeing people, he should just own up to it. You’re both adults.

“You are… the first person who has ever said that to me,” he says slowly, taking care to enunciate each of his words like he’s afraid you won’t understand him. You find it patronizing, and the corner of your eye begins to twitch in annoyance.

“Yeah? There’s a mountain of gifts for you in my apartment that would beg to differ.”

“...What? What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Sakusa, I’m not judging you. Whether you’ve got some rich old lady wrapped around your finger or a line-up of girls at your beck and call, it’s none of my business.”

“(Y/N), I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens as you turn at the next intersection.

“I’m talking about the thirty jars of umeboshi taking up all the space on my coffee table, and the pile of love letters next to my laundry hamper, and that obscenely large stuffed dog that’s been blocking my view of the TV for four days now,” you say, trying and failing to keep your tone even as you feel your patience wear thin.

Sakusa’s silent for a moment, which you take as an admittance of guilt. You wonder why the sense of victory that fills you feels so hollow, but it lasts only for a moment.

Because then he decides to cop out again.

“(Y/N), I legitimately cannot tell if you’re joking right now.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Sakusa…!” You take a deep breath to compose yourself as your knuckles turn white from how hard you’re gripping the wheel. “Fine, you can see for yourself when we get home.”

The rest of the drive passes by in tense silence, waves of anger radiating off you that even Sakusa does not dare provoke. Neither of you exchange a word on the elevator ride either, and it’s only when you pull him into your apartment that you finally deign to speak to him.

“See? I told you you’ve been getting presents in the mail. Or I guess I’ve been, on your behalf,” you say, your calm returning now that you’ve finally forced Sakusa to face the truth. “You really need to tell whoever you’re seeing that you live in unit 602, not 603, by the way.”

You study Sakusa’s expression as he takes in the sight of a week’s worth of lovers’ tokens burying every surface of your apartment. First he flinches at the mess, then his eyes go wide as he realizes just how _much_ of it there is, and then he squints in confusion as he stalks over to the pile of letters next to the hamper. He picks one up and rips it open carelessly, throwing the envelope over his shoulder. It flutters down to the ground as he unfolds the note.

Whatever he reads makes him scowl, and the note quickly joins the envelope on the floor before Sakusa pulls out his phone from his pocket.

“Oi, Miya! Why the hell did you leak my address to the fans? _Simps for Sakusa?_ Is that what they’re calling themselves now? Ugh, that’s not the point, never mind. I’m gonna murder you at practice on Monday, I swear to God you little… Atsumu? Atsumu! Dammit, he hung up.”

…Fan club?

“What kind of athletic trainer has a fan club?” you voice aloud.

“Athletic trainer?”

“Yeah, you said you’re an athletic trainer for the team.”

“What? No, I didn’t. I’m a volleyball player, MSBY Black Jackals. That’s why I moved here in the first place, so I could be closer to the gym where we practice.”

Oh. Oh wow.

“So, those presents that came this week… Those were from your fans?”

“Yeah, you didn’t bother to look at the stack of fan mail?”

“I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy!” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest in a pathetic attempt to protect some of your dignity.

You cannot believe how utterly misinformed you’ve been this whole time. You can definitely see Sakusa as a volleyball player, though, now that the image has been painted for you. His broad shoulders, his long legs, the creepy thing he does where he bends his wrists all the way back in both directions… You’ve been living next to a celebrity this whole time and you didn’t even know it.

Gonna cross _that_ one off the bucket list.

“So you’re, like… famous then?” you ask. He grimaces.

“I… guess you could say that, yeah,” he says, and with his confirmation, everything begins to sink in.

It feels kind of strange now, when you think about it. You sneezed on a professional athlete, screamed at him multiple times, had him _carry you out of a building_ – God, that one just makes you cringe now – and even carpooled with the guy. And although part of you is relieved that Sakusa’s not a boy-toy or a manslut, the other part feels a little… sad, almost? He seems so unattainable now, even as a friend.

Can you even call yourself his friend?

“I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding Sakusa, I just thought you were… and then I… and then you were denying it in the car, and I–”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, brushing you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m sorry you had to store all this junk at your place; I’ll make sure to clear it out by tomorrow. And I’ll tell Mrs. Takahashi that I won’t accept any packages unless they’re from family.”

He moves to retrieve his luggage from where it’s still sitting in your front foyer, and you suddenly feel guilty for yelling at him when he must be so exhausted from the tournament.

“Hey, Sakusa? I’m sorry again. Sleep well, okay?” you offer as he opens the door to leave. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. His mask covers the bottom half of his face as always, but after four months, you can distinguish his smiles from how the corners of his eyes crinkle, just a little. The way they do now.

“Okay. You too.” And with that he turns back around, closing the door behind him.

You sigh, your shoulders just barely relaxing when, suddenly, the door opens again and your body snaps to attention.

“Sakusa, what’s–”

“Thanks for being my friend,” he says quickly before slamming the door shut. The shuffling you hear through the wall a moment later tells you that he’s finally returned to his own apartment. A minute passes, during which you process his last sentence.

“Oh,” you say to no one, and you feel a shy smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Guess that answers that question.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa's never loved PR work, but when he's forced into a guest appearance on Bokuto's baking show, a familiar face behind the camera makes things a little easier to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!! Sorry for the slight delay. This is Night_Writer3's favourite chapter, so I hope you enjoy!! It was based on her suggestion to give Bokuto a baking show after the snickerdoodle fiasco in Chapter 4. I don't want to give too much away about Inomata (spoiler alert: he comes back!), but he was born after Night Writer mistook Bokuto for a depressed, middle-aged man (it was the "salt-and-pepper" hair description LOL). ^_^
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading!!

Sakusa’s never cared much for it himself, but even he has to admit that the massive following Bokuto’s accumulated on social media is impressive. With a million followers on Twitter and nearly twice that number on Instagram, there’s no doubt that most of the new Jackal fans they’ve had surging in are a result of Bokuto’s popularity. Sakusa doesn’t mind, though – quite the opposite, in fact. To him, anything that brings the public’s attention to volleyball and the Black Jackals is a good thing.

However, that doesn’t mean he wants to be affiliated with Bokuto’s side gigs in any way, shape or form.

“Omi-omi! Can you grab me the cinnamon from the pantry? It’s behind the big bag of whole wheat flour,” Bokuto calls as he crosses into the living room to answer the door.

Sakusa is seriously starting to regret filing that complaint to Coach Foster last month about Atsumu leaking his address. In his own defence, though, he couldn't have predicted that telling Coach about the ten garbage bags’ worth of junk he collected would prompt him to look into Sakusa’s fanclub _._ Turns out, he’s quite popular – _Simps for Sakusa_ has got around two hundred thousand members and still growing.

Sakusa hates the business side of sports sometimes, because shameless self-promo is the whole reason Foster forced him into a media appearance in the first place. It was either guest-star on Bokuto’s YouTube cooking channel or participate in the V-League’s charity fundraiser, a kissing booth in Shinjuku. He was told they’d just be cheek kisses, but even still, the idea of putting his lips on a stranger’s face without knowing where they’d been or what diseases they were carrying had made Sakusa gag.

And so, it was with great reluctance that he’d agreed to appear on _Baking with Bokuto._

“Sorry we’re late! Traffic was crazy today and Tsumu-san almost got into a fight with some guy in the lobby,” Hinata says as he removes his shoes in the doorway of Bokuto’s apartment. Atsumu trails in behind him, and when he meets Sakusa’s eyes, he gives a lazy grin that instinctively makes Sakusa groan.

If he knew he’d be guest-starring with the two of them today, Sakusa would’ve just gone to the kissing booth and refused to take his mask off. Because honestly? With Bokuto running the show, there’s no way this can end well.

Unsurprisingly, they come across their first crisis before they can even start filming.

“Don’t worry about it, Shoyo! Omi just got here, too,” Bokuto says, making his way back into the kitchen as he reaches around behind him, trying and failing to tie the strings of his apron into a knot. “Our camera guy’s a little late though, he should be– Oh, he’s calling!”

Bokuto grabs his phone from the island with flour-coated hands, and the powdery white smudges they leave on the screen make Sakusa cringe.

“Hi Okubo-san! What? In _labour?_ Okay, yeah, go take care of your wife! Yeah, don’t worry about us! If you’re looking for names, I think Kotaro– Aw, he hung up,” Bokuto says with a pout.

Sakusa, on the other hand, makes a mental note to buy this baby organic formula and a Gucci onesie when he has the chance.

“Does this mean I can leave?”

Bokuto looks at him with a frown.

“Hey now, Omi-omi. I know this is your first time, but on _Baking with Bokuto,_ the show must go on! I can’t let my subscribers down, they’re expecting me to keep up with my weekly upload schedule.”

“But Bokuto-san, who’s gonna film for us?”

“How about yer neighbour, Omi? The two of you are _friends,_ aren’t ya?”

Sakusa seriously wishes he’d made good on his threat to murder Atsumu when he had the chance, because now Bokuto and Hinata are looking at him with wide eyes, and for some reason, it’s making Sakusa very self-conscious.

“I don’t want to bother her,” he says lamely, eyes glued to the ground. It’s true enough. It’s the weekend, so he knows you’re not working today, but on the off-chance that you do have plans, he doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Omi-san, you have a friend here? I want to meet them!” Hinata pipes in, and Sakusa curses his junior’s big, sparkly eyes and perpetually sunny disposition, because he can already feel himself starting to crack.

“Shoyo, I really don’t think–”

“It won’t even take them long to get here since they live in the building! You should at least try, Omi-san.”

Sakusa sighs and reaches for the phone in his pocket. He’d die before saying it out loud, but he knows he’s weak for Hinata and he hates it.

“(Y/N), are you busy right now? We’re trying to film something at Bokuto’s place, but our cameraman can’t make it and we need someone to fill in. One of us? No, Bokuto wants shots with all of us together, so we need an extra person. A _camcorder?_ What is this, 2005? You don’t need to bring anything, we’ll just use Bokuto’s video camera. Yeah, some of the guys are here, but it’s just Shoyo and Atsumu. What do you mean? I’ve already told you all their secrets, if anything _they_ should be scared to meet _you_. Okay, it’s unit 707. Yeah, see you in a few. Thanks.”

As soon as Sakusa hangs up, he’s met with a flurry of protests that he really should’ve seen coming.

“Omi-san!”

“ _Secrets?!_ Yer kidding!”

“Omi-omi, that’s low!”

Sakusa just shrugs. It’s true he’s divulged more about the team to you than he probably he should have, but it’s not like it’ll make a difference.

“Anything I told her she would’ve figured out after being around you three for ten minutes. You’re all dumbasses on a regular basis.”

That triggers a new chorus of complaints, but Sakusa knows he’s right, so he just ignores them.

* * *

On the elevator ride to the seventh floor, you run through every conversation you’ve had with Sakusa in the past month about his teammates. At this point, you feel like you know them as well as he does, but it can’t hurt to review.

You were pretty shocked when Sakusa revealed to you that Snickerdoodles was a member of the team: Bokuto Kotaro, outside hitter. Same position as your neighbour, but that’s where the similarities end, because unlike Sakusa, he’s also very loud and predisposed to some pretty intense mood swings.

Miya Atsumu is the womanizer, but according to Sakusa, he’s gotten into a serious relationship lately and has mellowed out a little. You’re not sure how much you believe that, considering he’s the same man who leaked your address to Sakusa’s fanclub, but you can’t say you really mind anymore. After all, Atsumu is the reason you now have a six-foot jackal plushie in your room to use as a second bed.

Hinata Shoyo is cute, positive, incredibly hardworking, and not-so-secretly your neighbour’s favourite. Sakusa hasn’t told you that himself, but you’ve figured it out from the way he always perks up when you ask about how his kouhai’s doing on your morning car rides. You think you’ve heard the story about the attack combination he brought back from Brazil at least five times now, but Sakusa always gets so excited talking about it that you’re happy to listen.

The elevator dings and you step out into the hall, heart racing. You can’t help it. It feels strange to finally be meeting the people you’ve only heard about in Sakusa’s stories, but he seems to be close to all of them, so how bad can they be?

You take a deep breath and knock on the door of unit 707 three times. Not a minute later, Sakusa appears in the doorway to greet you, and you breathe a sigh of relief at his familiar masked face.

“Hey, thanks for–”

Except he’s pushed out of view a second later by three decidedly unfamiliar bodies. No, two. One of these men you’ve seen twice now, and you sincerely hope he’s nothing like his first impression made him out to be.

“Oya-oya, who do we have here?”

“603-san, welcome! Sorry for leaking yer address.”

“You must be Omi-san’s friend!”

You recognize Snickerdoodles – no, _Bokuto_ – immediately by his spiked silver hair, and you can conclude from the blond’s comments that he must be Atsumu, which means the tiny one with big brown eyes is Hinata. You can see why Sakusa is so fond of him now – you’ve known him for only thirty seconds, but he looks so small and huggable that all you want to do is take him in your arms and squeeze the life out of him.

You could probably get a restraining order for that, though, so you refrain.

“Move it, you’re blocking the doorway!” Sakusa yells as he pushes his teammates aside. They stumble into each other, and for a moment you fear they’ll all fall into a heap on the floor, but unlike you, they have the grace to remain upright. Hmph. Athletes.

“Hi, I’m (L/N) (Y/N)! Nice to meet you,” you say, taking a bow as you step into Bokuto’s apartment.

“I’m Bokuto Kotaro!”

“Hinata Shoyo!”

“Miya Atsumu, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

You wonder briefly if they always speak in succession like this, bombarding people with three answers at a time, but Atsumu’s comment makes you raise an eyebrow. You’re a little taken aback, but it’s true, so you just nod slowly before removing your shoes and placing them neatly in the rack by the door. The smirk on his face grows, but you don’t mention it.

“Thanks so much for your help, (L/N)-san,” Bokuto says as you follow him and the others into the kitchen. The mess of ingredients on the island and scattered appliances on the counters startle you – no wonder Sakusa sounded so dejected over the phone – but you try not to let it show on your face as Bokuto gives you a run-down of your job.

“So today we’re going to be making caramel apple cupcakes! I’m gonna need you to film this in five sections: the buttercream frosting, the wet ingredients for the batter, the dry ingredients for the batter, the caramel sauce, and then assembly at the end. If all goes well, I’ll put some extras in a Tupperware for you and you can take ‘em home!” Bokuto concludes his speech with a big smile and a wink, and his overwhelming energy must be contagious, because you suddenly feel so ready to get started.

Honestly, you have no idea what Sakusa was talking about – Bokuto’s such a nice guy. And you’re about to tell him as much when you realize with belated shock that, hey, they’re filming a cooking show today. No, scratch that.

A _baking_ show.

…Which is so incredibly ironic and downright terrifying considering who’s hosting. Your bruises may have healed, but the fire alarm incident still isn’t a fond memory for you.

You lock eyes with Sakusa from across the room, trying to communicate telepathically that no, this probably isn’t a very good idea. By some miracle, the message seems to get across.

“I know, but if the smoke alarm goes off, at least he won’t alert the whole building this time,” Sakusa says out loud, which totally undermines the point of telepathic communication.

“Bokuto-san?” Hinata asks.

“Oi, Bokuto, you _did_ that?” Atsumu says, already dissolving into a fit of wheezes as Bokuto goes red in the face and rears on Sakusa.

“Omi-omi, you promised not to tell!” He turns to you suddenly, eyes pleading. “Don’t worry, (L/N)-san, I promise I’ve gotten much better. Nothing will go wrong today, I guarantee it.”

You hope you’re not being overly optimistic by choosing to believe him, but Bokuto’s award-winning smile tides you over. He emerges from his storage closet a moment later with a tripod and high-tech video camera that puts your old camcorder to shame, and you’re secretly grateful that he takes the time to set them up for you, because you probably would’ve dropped both if you’d attempted to do it yourself.

Bokuto takes another ten minutes to teach you the controls, and after learning how to start and stop, pan left and right, and zoom in and out, you’re feeling pretty confident. By the time Bokuto starts his intro, you can’t even remember what you were so worried about.

“Hey, hey, hey, welcome to another episode of _Baking with Bokuto!_ First things first: big congratulations to our cameraman Okubo Daisuke on the birth of his first child! He can’t be here today, but we’ve got a special friend here to help us out,” he says, winking at you from your place behind the camera. “Speaking of _special friends…_ I’ve got three surprise guests joining us today to make my friend Inomata-san’s famous caramel apple cupcakes! First up, we have my forever-kouhai, Hinata Shoyo!”

“Buttercream, scene 1, take 1!” You make the call in an awkward half-shout, still self-conscious about being surrounded by so many people you don’t know, but Bokuto gives you a thumbs-up. The action fills you with new confidence and you square your shoulders, smiling at him.

Hinata comes into the frame looking half-nervous, half-excited, and fully adorable. You can almost see him bouncing on the balls of his feet and the sight reminds you of Mrs. Takahashi’s Pomeranian. He almost drops the bowl of butter as he guides the chunks into the saucepan, but he catches it at the last minute and Bokuto’s whispered, “We can edit it out later,” from beside him makes you laugh.

Apart from that, Hinata starts off pretty strong, actually. He takes care to stir the butter constantly so that it doesn’t burn while browning, and his naturally outgoing, earnest personality comes through great on camera.

“Hello everyone! I’ve been looking forward to being on _Baking with Bokuto_ for a long time now. Thank you for always supporting the Black Jackals! We’ll give it our best this season, so please look forward to it!” Hinata sets the wooden spoon down for just a moment so that he can give a 90° bow to the camera. And honestly, you can relate to the butter on a spiritual level right now, because you too are _melting inside._ You thought it was odd that someone could so wholly capture Sakusa’s affection, but you understand why now.

“Buttercream, scene 2, take 1!”

…You can also understand all those times Sakusa picked you up from work utterly pissed off and ranting about ‘that damn tangerine boy’.

“Okay, so now that the browned butter has cooled, Bokuto-san said to beat it with this hand mixer,” Hinata says, showing it off to the camera like a product placement. It might be. You really have no idea how the business side of professional sports operates, even after all those conversations you’ve had with Sakusa.

Before anyone can stop him, Hinata turns the mixer onto the highest setting and _plunges_ it into the butter. Chunks spew everywhere, and even with his quick reflexes, by the time Hinata’s pulled the mixer out of the bowl and turned it off, only about two-thirds of the original contents still remain.

“Uh, daijoubu, daijoubu!” Bokuto chants as he rushes from behind the camera to join an utterly mortified Hinata on-screen. You really don’t think you can believe him this time, and from the strained smile on his face, you don’t think he believes himself either.

You peer over at Sakusa beside you. His body is shaking and his eyes are wide. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to have a stroke, and it’s not even _his_ kitchen that’s covered in chunks of butter.

“Should I yell cut?” you whisper to him. He doesn’t even look at you.

“There’s butter on the ceiling.”

“…So is that a no?”

* * *

“Batter, wet ingredients, take 1!”

In the two minutes you’ve been filming Atsumu, all he’s done is measure some oil, whole milk, and vanilla extract, but it’s enough to make you wonder if he’s the member of the team that gets all the commercial and modelling deals, because he’s so comfortable on camera – a little too comfortable, in your opinion, because he just won’t stop _flirting._

“Hello beautiful viewers, here’s hoping that these cupcakes will come out as sweet as all of ya watchin' out there!” Atsumu pours the teaspoon of vanilla into the mixing bowl, then he looks straight into the camera and _winks_. You honestly consider it a talent that he can say all of that without cringing.

Sakusa’s got it covered, though. You can already see his fists balling up from the corner of your eye, and you know it’s just a matter of time before he storms in front of the camera and makes a scene.

“I need to rinse my eyeballs and purge my mind of everything I’ve just seen and heard, _jeez,”_ he mutters under his breath beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose over his mask.

“And that’s everything we need,” Atsumu says eventually, looking down at the bowl of ingredients in a way that shouldn’t be sensual, but somehow is. Then he picks up the whisk lying on the table, holding it up for the viewers to see. “Guess which setter’s gonna _whisk_ ya off yer feet? Hint: it sure as hell ain’t Oikawa.”

“Cut!” Bokuto shouts for you, and you’re grateful that he does because you’re pretty sure Sakusa was seconds away from decking Atsumu over the head. “Tsum-tsum, you can’t say that on camera or else all the Oikawa-stans are gonna unsubscribe!”

“Let them! They’re all a bunch of tasteless pigs anyway!”

“Should I start the second take?” you ask, again whispering to Sakusa.

“No, I’m enjoying this.”

* * *

“Batter, dry ingredients, take 1!”

You’re about five minutes into Sakusa’s portion of the video, and of the three you’ve filmed so far, he definitely moves with the most grace in the kitchen. He’s meticulous, which you had assumed already, and never makes any extraneous movements. There’s one problem, though: he hasn’t said a _thing._

All you can hear right now is the sound of sugar, flour, baking powder, and cinnamon grating against the metal bowl as Sakusa whisks them together. Bokuto, for one, is not happy.

“Cut! Omi-omi, please _say something!_ If you want to start an ASMR cooking channel, do it on your own time. This is _Baking with Bokuto,_ and _Baking with Bokuto_ is exciting! (L/N)-san, please do something!”

You do a double-take, shrinking in on yourself as your eyes grow wide.

“M-me…?”

You’re kind of surprised that Bokuto’s just deferring Sakusa to you, and frankly a little panicked, because you have no idea how to make Sakusa start talking on a program he so clearly didn’t want to be on in the first place.

“Um… Sakusa, why don’t you try narrating the steps aloud? And, uh, Bokuto-san, maybe you can prompt him with questions?”

Bokuto looks at you thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he goes silent for what must be the first time today. You panic for a moment, thinking you might’ve said something wrong, but a moment later, he nods.

“Okay, let’s try it. Batter, dry ingredients, take 2!”

You begin the second take, looking at Sakusa over the top of the camera and giving him an encouraging smile. Now that he’s expected to talk, he looks… stiff, for some reason, and although you knew it before, it’s now become very apparent that he’s always cooked alone.

“So… right now, I’m whisking the dry ingredients together,” he says in the smallest, most awkward voice you’ve ever heard from him. He tries his best to make eye contact with the camera, but the longest he can actually look into the lens is three seconds (you’re keeping count). And for some reason, part of you finds it… endearing, almost. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Omi-omi, you cook much?” Bokuto pipes in from behind the camera. Sakusa hums, his shoulders beginning to relax a little.

“Yeah, mostly my mom’s old recipes. They help boost my immune system and keep me going for long practices.”

You smile at that, memories of okayu and ginger tea left on a breakfast tray outside your door now coming back to you. Maybe one of these days when Sakusa’s free, you can convince him to teach you how to make all his home remedies.

“Um… I’m gonna cube the apples now,” he says, breaking you out of your reverie as your attention flicks back to the camera.

Sakusa peels the skins off deftly before slicing one of the fruits in half, and it’s only when he’s begun cutting the apple into slices that Bokuto hits him with another question. You have to admit, your opinion of Bokuto has shot up exponentially since the last time you saw him, but you can confirm by what he says next that he indeed has zero sense.

“Ever been in a relationship, Omi?”

The knife slips and Sakusa hisses in pain, clutching his left index finger. You can already see a small pool of red collecting on the kitchen island, and Sakusa himself looks just about ready to pass out.

“Cut!” you shout, in both senses of the word. “Sakusa, are you okay?”

Sakusa doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at you. He’s too busy staring at his own blood leaving his body, and now he’s begun to sway on his feet.

“Bokuto-san, why would you ask him that?” Hinata demands from where he sits on your left.

“I don’t know! I was just trying to spice things up! You okay, Omi?”

Sakusa stumbles out of the kitchen and down the hall, to the bathroom presumably. A look of wide-eyed terror is still frozen on his face, and your heart almost stops when he trips over a floorboard, but his sense of physical awareness is still keen enough that he catches himself.

“I need… soap and water… and antibacterial ointment and a bandage…” he mumbles, and if the situation wasn’t so serious, you would laugh at how consistent his priorities are.

“Oh my God, Bokuto-san! You broke Omi-san!” Hinata cries out, and honestly, there’s nothing you can say to refute that. Sakusa disappears down the hall, and the three of you eventually hear the bathroom door close as the sink starts running.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Bokuto kind of collapses in on himself as his hair deflates. With a loud sigh, he says, “I’ll get the Polysporin,” before hanging his head and shuffling back to the living room.

“Uh… should someone go check on him?” you ask, looking between Hinata and Atsumu uncertainly.

“Oh no, Bokuto-san’s always like that."

“I think she meant Omi, Shoyo."

“Oh yeah, maybe.”

You, Atsumu, and Hinata all look at each other expectantly, and when it becomes clear that no one’s ready to volunteer, Bokuto makes the decision for you by returning to the kitchen, taking your hand, and placing a tube of Polysporin in your open palm.

“There are Band-Aids in the cabinet above the sink. Tell Omi I’m sorry for being such a terrible host, teammate, and person,” Bokuto says, his lip quivering as his eyes grow moist. You weren’t so sure before, but now you can definitely see why Sakusa warned you about his mood swings.

“We’ll deal with him. Just check on Omi.” Atsumu pats you on the shoulder and you nod, making your way down the hall until you hear the sound running water behind one of the doors. When you open it, you find Sakusa bent over the sink, holding his finger under the faucet as he washes out the wound with soap. It doesn’t seem to be too deep from what you can tell, and it looks like some of his sanity has finally returned now that it’s been cleaned. You sigh in relief, and it’s enough to notify Sakusa of your presence.

“I’ve got your ointment. Band-Aids are in the cabinet, according to Bokuto. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, yeah,” he replies as he rinses the last of the soap off and pats his hands dry with a clean towel. You hand him the ointment and he wastes no time in slathering it onto his finger. The silence that follows feels awkward, and you rack your brain for anything to say to relieve the tension in the room.

“That was a really personal question Bokuto asked. It would’ve caught me off-guard, too,” you offer. Sakusa doesn’t say anything as he caps the ointment and grabs the Band-Aids from the top cabinet, next to a big bottle of styling gel. The silence returns, and you’re about to tell a bad joke you heard from work when, finally, Sakusa says something.

“…If I’ve never dated anyone before, does that make me weird?”

Your mind goes blank for a minute as you process what he just said. Considering Sakusa’s job, tidiness and culinary expertise, you’re a little surprised at the reveal, but upon seeing the insecurity in his hunched shoulders and the doubt in his eyes that won’t meet yours, you immediately soften.

“No, it doesn’t make you weird,” you say softly. “Everyone takes things at their own pace, and you clearly spent that time doing something that was important to you. That’s why you’re living your dream now, and I for one think that's really amazing.”

He raises his head to look at you, and you smile.

“I mean it. And besides, it’s a good thing that you’re waiting for the right person. If you go rushing into something, you’ll end up like me.” You cut yourself off with a weak laugh.

“Not exactly,” he says, and the fact that he’s still talking fills you with relief. “I would never wander in the rain barefoot and catch pneumonia, no matter how badly I got my heart broken.”

You can’t help but snort, and his brow furrows at that, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“If you’re okay now, I think we still need to film Bokuto’s portion of the video.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Whatever Atsumu said to Bokuto seems to have worked, because when you return to the kitchen, he’s all dopey smiles again and his hair seems to have sprung back to its usual state. When he sees Sakusa, however, his face falls and you fear that he’ll start sulking again, but after your neighbour smacks him upside the head and tells him he’s fine, Bokuto smiles oh-so wide, and you can’t help but find it cute.

You film Bokuto making the caramel sauce as the cupcakes bake, and when they’re finally assembled, you try one and decide that he is, in fact, a much better baker than you’ve given him credit for. Or maybe it’s just the culinary talents of the other three, you can’t really tell.

“Thanks for coming everyone!” Bokuto says as he sees you off at the door, a Tupperware filled with leftover cupcakes clutched tightly in your hands. “I’m gonna run next door to give some to Inomata-san now. He’s gonna be so impressed!”

“Inomata? Ya mean that forty-year-old I saw in the hall?” Atsumu asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s great! Most of my recipes come from him,” Bokuto says. He bids you all farewell again before heading back into his apartment to pack some cupcakes for his neighbour. You don’t stick around to meet Inomata, instead heading to the elevator where you part ways with Hinata and Atsumu. You awkwardly try to brush them off as they thank you again, and soon, you and Sakusa are walking back to your apartment.

“That was fun, Omi-omi.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, _Sakusa.”_

You keep walking, but Sakusa stops, prompting you to turn back around to look at him.

“Sakusa, you coming?”

He’s silent, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s having traumatic flashbacks from his slip in the kitchen today, but then he finally speaks.

“…Kiyoomi.”

“What?”

“You can call me Kiyoomi.”

Sakusa suddenly surges forward, brushing past you to enter his apartment. He shuts the door behind him without another word, and for about a minute, you just stare at the polished oak wordlessly. Then you start laughing, letting out the hyena sounds you’ve been holding back all day as you unlock your own apartment door and let yourself inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming, but a shirtless Sakusa was never on your wishlist. And though you normally wouldn't complain, the circumstances this time are... less than ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope everyone has been enjoying the holidays so far, and merry (late) Christmas to those of you who celebrate!! ^_^ Please enjoy part 1 of the Christmas special!!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: Updates will now be coming once every 2 weeks!! I'm so, so sorry to all of you who've been looking forward to the weekly updates, but school applications have been driving me nuts these past few weeks, and I don't think it's a realistic schedule for me anymore. :( I hope you understand, and I thank you for your patience!!

Sakusa has never believed in karma.

But now, standing naked, wet, and shivering in the comfort of his own apartment _,_ he’s starting to think that there really is some divine power out there, one that must’ve heard all his complaints during the three-week training camp in Brazil. If that’s the case, then their timing’s a little harsh – he just flew back in this morning, you were too busy running errands to pick him up from the airport, and he is still very, _very_ jet-lagged. There’s been a violent throbbing in his head since he landed, but the constant fatigue that’s been clawing at his consciousness for the past twenty-four hours is gone now.

…Mostly because he’s drenched from head-to-toe in the lone spurt of water his shower just produced. And in the mid-December cold, it’s causing him to shake like a _Chihuahua_.

Sakusa wraps his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to conserve what little body heat he’s still producing, and as his teeth chatter, he fiddles with the shower handles, the levers, the thermostat – hell, even the settings on the handheld nozzle that he’s never touched before – but the water just won’t turn back on.

And because Sakusa’s not keen on catching hypothermia, he decides it’s time for Plan B.

Still shivering, he slides open the shower door and hobbles over to the cabinet where he keeps his fresh towels. If anyone on his team saw him right now, they’d laugh their asses off – Atsumu specifically – but at this point, Sakusa can’t find it in himself to care. He mulls over his options as he dries off, hopping from side to side to generate more body heat and restore the circulation in his toes.

Sakusa knows exactly three of his neighbours (you, Bokuto, and Mrs. Tadashi), two close enough to ask for a favour (you and Bokuto), and by process of elimination, only one clean enough to consider borrowing a shower from (you, because Bokuto is, and always will be, a complete and utter mess).

Conveniently, you’re also the closest to him geographically, and if that isn’t a sign from the universe, he doesn’t know what is. He just hopes you’re home by now.

Decided, Sakusa pulls on the fluffy white bathrobe hanging on the hook beside the cabinet, the one that the Brazilian hotel staff gave him as a gift after he complained to them for the fifth time that he needed his room disinfected twice daily. The robe does little to warm him, but he ties the sash around his waist without a second thought. There’s no time to get dressed when there are germs from both the airplane _and_ cab ride still clinging to him, and honestly, he’ll break into your apartment at this point if it means he’ll get to take a hot shower.

Teeth still chattering, Sakusa grabs the change of clothes he left on the bathroom vanity, pulls on his mask, and nearly slips as he dashes to the front door, ice-cold water dripping down the backs of his legs. When he makes it to the foyer, he slides on the closed-toe sandals he bought for the training camp before shutting his apartment door behind him and going to knock on yours.

Sakusa doesn’t notice that the shirt balanced on top of the pile of clothes he was carrying is now on his apartment floor. It fell when he stumbled in the hall, but he was too busy cursing under his breath to notice.

* * *

“Kiyoomi?” You thought _you_ were cold, but the way Sakusa shivers at your door clad only in a bathrobe – a rather revealing one at that, but you force your eyes not to wander – tells you that a couple hours at the Christmas market this morning probably isn’t much to complain about.

“Shower. Now, please. Move,” he says in a deadpan voice, shoving past you before you even have the chance to respond. Not like it’s much of a feat, really. His Greek God body seems to have gotten even _more_ impressive after the training camp, if that’s possible.

“That’s all you have to say to me after three weeks? Didn’t you miss your carpool buddy?” you ask, half-teasing and half-annoyed as you close the front door and follow Sakusa into your apartment. “You didn’t even ask if–”

The glare Sakusa throws over his shoulder is ice-cold, even more so than the biting December wind that almost gave you frostbite this morning. Part of you feels like you have the right to yell at him for barging in, but the other part – the one that actually wants to live, at least to see Christmas this year – tells you it’d be better to just back off.

And you do, watching wordlessly as Sakusa stalks down the hallway, pulling open door after door until he finds your bathroom, sighs in relief, and disappears inside.

Well, alrighty then. Six months of living next to Sakusa have definitely produced weirder circumstances, you figure.

When you finally hear the water running, you sigh to yourself and shuffle over to the couch, collapsing onto it and snuggling one of the throw pillows to your chest. You were really hoping to take a hot shower after getting back from the outdoor market, but it looks like that’ll have to wait. At least your Christmas shopping’s done.

You peer over to the corner of the living room where this morning’s efforts sit in four tote bags stuffed to the brim with holiday cheer. There’s a pair of hand-knitted mittens for your mom, a sweater with a cheesy pun for your dad, a set of matching mugs for you and your coworkers, and even something for Sakusa.

You spent twenty minutes debating whether or not you should buy him a gift, but after glancing around at all the couples crowding the market, you decided that, screw it, Christmas could be a holiday for friendship too – to hell with the fifty-year long Japanese traditions that said otherwise.

A _ding!_ from your phone breaks you out of your reverie. You lean over, grabbing it from where it sits on the coffee table to read the incoming message.

 **♥Mom♥, 11:24AM:** _Are you home right now?_

You furrow your brow curiously at that, but reply anyway.

 **You, 11:24AM:** _Yeah, why?_

 **♥Mom♥, 11:25AM:** _Dropping off some tangerines. Meet me at your front door_

That makes you smile. It’s been at least four months since your mom last popped by, and even though she calls every weekend, it’ll be nice to finally see her face-to-face again. You can’t even find it within yourself to be mad at her for not calling beforehand – must be the holiday spirit in the air.

With a happy sigh, you hop off the couch to hide your presents, grunting as you pick up two bags in either hand and waddle down the hall. You can still hear the water running from your bathroom, and you thank God that Sakusa was too busy throwing a tantrum this morning to see his gift in the corner.

Wait. Oh crap.

You drop the bags.

Sakusa is in your home. In the shower, specifically.

And he’s _butt-naked._

You leave the bags where they are to make a mad dash back to the living room, grabbing your phone off the couch and scrolling to your messages furiously.

 **You, 11:28AM:** _Actuasly mom, idk if thst’s a good ifea_

 **You, 11:28AM:** _I tjink I mihght be comiing diwn wiyh smth, just domt come ok?_

The typos make you cringe, and you pray to God that your mom is tech-savvy enough to understand your broken texting. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to be a problem.

The fact that she’s already in the elevator, however, _is._

 **♥Mom♥, 11:30AM:** _Omw up already. Dw I won’t stay long_

You curse under your breath, pacing back and forth anxiously as you rack your brain for ideas. Unfortunately, the sound of the shower and the threat associated with it drown out all semblance of rational thought, and you think you’re about ten seconds away from screaming when there’s a knock at your door.

Oh, God. You are so not prepared for this.

You run to the bathroom, pounding on the door and praying that Sakusa is almost done – if he is, then he can just hide in here for the time being, but you can’t risk him wandering out half-naked with your mom around.

When there’s no response, you try calling his name, but it isn’t loud enough to be heard over the running water. You’re about to yell, then think better of it, remembering your mom is still _right outside your door._

So you curse again – your language has become _so_ much more colourful since Sakusa moved here – and decide to move to Plan B.

You hop over the tote bags in the hallway as you dash to the foyer, your mom’s voice sounding _very_ irritated as she calls your name and raps her knuckles on the door incessantly.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), come let me in! Do you know how long it took to drive here?!”

You open the door breathlessly, hoping you can blame your flushed cheeks on the cold. And oh, your mom doesn’t look too happy.

“Sorry, Mom,” you say instinctively as you take the box of tangerines from her arms. You set it down on the table by the front foyer before taking her coat and hanging it up in the closet.

“You don’t look sick to me,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she removes her shoes. Crap, you forgot about that. You hack up a few fake coughs, but you’re caught off-guard by what she says next.

“Oh, you’re looking a little warm, though. Do you have a fever? I can stay if you need me to.”

You silently curse your inherent lack of athleticism. A little bit of running around and you’re already red-faced and winded.

“No! You _really_ don’t need to, I’m completely fine!” you rattle off, plastering a fake smile on your face that you doubt is even a little convincing.

“Oh, good! Then I can stay for a while without worrying about getting sick.”

For a moment, she sounds so much like Sakusa that you just stand there, gaping, but you shake your head and continue to trail after her as she walks farther into the apartment. You consider just telling her the truth and hoping she believes you, because you know that your mother walking in on a naked Sakusa showering in your bathroom can only end in complete mortification for all parties involved.

“Um, Mom, remember my neighbour? The one I bought soap for?” you ask as she collapses onto the couch with a sigh. Like mother like daughter.

“Of course! Getting that soap in the mail was the best surprise I’ve had in a while. Where’d you even find that stuff? There isn’t a single store in town that stocks it.”

“Mom, that’s not the point, he’s–”

“By the way, I thought I heard the water running earlier, but it stopped a while ago. You should get that looked at, maybe call your landlady,” she says, and you feel like you’re about to pop a blood vessel again, this time from holding back your screams.

“Mom! I’m trying to tell you that he’s–”

Wait. The water stopped? When? Does that mean Sakusa’s...?

Crap, you really don’t have time now.

“Look Mom, my neighbour’s shower bro–”

“(Y/N)? Have you seen a grey tee shirt anywhere?” You hear Sakusa’s voice call you from the hallway and you curse, out loud this time.

“Oh, you germaphobic asshole.”

You groan, resigning yourself to your fate as you turn to see Sakusa emerge into the living room. And then you gasp, because it really, truly feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs when you see that, although he’s in his sweatpants, he is also _very_ shirtless.

Sakusa’s too busy towelling off his hair to even _look up,_ so you and your mom both sit, stunned silent, for about ten seconds until he notices that you have company. Sakusa at least has the decency to look shocked, maybe embarrassed? And if it’s the latter, then no, six months of living with him have never produced circumstances weirder than the one you currently find yourself in.

You’re sure that Sakusa’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks must match your own right now, and you know you should probably explain to your stuttering, _sputtering_ mother just what the hell is going on, but you can’t seem to find the words. You take so long, in fact, that your mom beats you to it.

“(Y/N), is… is this your boyfriend?” Your jaw hits the ground, your voice finally returning.

“No! No, oh my _gosh,_ no!” You’re not sure why you sound as defensive as you do, but there’s no time to ponder it now. “No Mom, he’s–”

“I’m just her–”

Your mother’s scandalized gasp cuts off both you _and_ Sakusa, and if you weren’t so flustered by this whole situation, you would almost feel bad for your neighbour. His face is so red that he looks about a minute away from spontaneously combusting, and the way his eyes flicker anxiously between you and your mother is reminiscent of the Pilates class three months ago, which is enough to make you worry.

“(Y/N), I know the breakup was hard on you, but a one-night–”

“Oh my God, Mom, that’s not what this is, if you would just _listen–_ ”

“You’re right, there’s no way you could score a guy this pretty,” your mother says, eyeing Sakusa warily. You sigh, too relieved to even feel offended at this point, and you’re about to finally get a word in when she cuts you off with _another_ gasp.

“Wait. Don’t tell me he’s a prostit–”

“Mom!” You can’t help but yell now, and boy does it feel good when the room finally goes quiet. “He’s my neighbour, okay?! My germaphobic neighbour whose shower broke this morning, so I leant him mine! He’s not a prostitute, or a stripper, or my boyfriend, or whatever else you’re thinking, so please just calm down and stop jumping to conclusions!" By the time you’re done ranting, your face is as red as Sakusa’s and you’re panting heavily.

Your mom’s eyes widen at your outburst, but you can see relief flooding her face already as her shoulders relax and she slumps back into the couch cushions.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighs, and when her eyes flick back to Sakusa, yours follow. He looks so awkward just standing there and rubbing the back of his neck, but you can tell that at least a little bit of his composure has returned now that the air has been cleared. And wow, without the robe blocking your view, you can’t help but shamelessly ogle his bare chest.

…Now that you think about it, his state of undress is probably a little suspicious in the context of a platonic relationship.

Looks like your mother just realized that too.

“Then why is he _shirtless?!”_ she screeches, and you flinch, the bottled-up frustrations fuelling your confidence from earlier now well and truly gone. Sakusa finally chooses to speak, and if he wasn’t on the other side of the room, you’d smack him over the head for his poor timing. And his choice of words.

“She’s seen me like this before,” he says, and even though it’s true – flashbacks of the fire alarm four months ago briefly cross your mind – that’s really _not_ what your mother needs to hear right now.

“What?!”

“He means _shirtless,_ Mom, not fresh from the shower!”

“I repeat, _what?!”_

“Ma’am, don’t worry, it wasn’t just (Y/N) who saw me. There were others present,” Sakusa tries to explain, and you think your soul just left your body. Even if it’s the last thing you do, you’re gonna dial up Atsumu once this is all over and ask him to throw a big, crowded house party at Sakusa’s apartment.

“ _Others present?_ I thought you said he wasn’t a stripper?! (Y/N), _what is going on?!”_

Better focus on getting out of this alive first.

* * *

“Bye Mom, thanks for coming,” you say, standing in the doorway now short of breath and completely exhausted. That hot shower is looking even better than it did an hour ago.

“Mm-hm, take care.” She says it with a gentle smile, as if she wasn’t threatening to disown you thirty minutes ago. Turning to your left, she says, “It was nice meeting you, Sakusa-kun. Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Sakusa is still here – now fully clothed – and you’re grateful that he stayed behind to help you explain yourself, even though moral obligation practically dictated it anyways. His mask is back on now, and with it, his usual state of impassive, unshakeable calm has returned. No one would ever know he was accused of prostitution half an hour ago.

And honestly, it’s such a shame that today’s incident also involved you, otherwise you could’ve used it as blackmail material on Sakusa for life.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to your mother, and she nods, looking a little sheepish now. It’s not like you can blame her.

“(Y/N), are you sure you don’t want to come to the Hamadas’ Christmas party next week?” she asks, and just the thought of spending Christmas Eve in formalwear eating devilled eggs with people you hardly know makes you groan.

“Yeah Mom, it’s fine. They’re your friends, not mine.”

“I know, but won’t you be lonely?”

You scoff at that. You know she means well, but the pitying look in her eyes just makes you feel worse about yourself. Besides, you’ve already got a game plan.

“I will not be _lonely,_ Mother. Christmas isn’t just for couples. I’ll order some KFC and watch a movie, maybe stay up and binge-watch a drama, I don’t know. At least I have the day off work.”

You will yourself not to flinch under her scrutinizing gaze, but eventually she just sighs and dismisses you with a wave of her hand. Thank goodness. At this point, you really don’t have the energy to get into another fight with your mother.

“If you say so,” she says. She checks her watch and frowns. “I should get going, the train’s coming in fifteen.”

“Okay. Love you, be careful!”

You and Sakusa wave to your mom from the doorway as she disappears down the hall, and when she’s out of sight, you let out the sigh you’ve been holding in all morning. Then you turn to face Sakusa.

“Ask Mrs. Takahashi to take a look at your shower. You’re never using mine again,” you say, grumbling as you stalk over to the couch. You hear Sakusa close your apartment door before he enters the living room to join you. Funny, you can’t remember inviting him in.

“If you’re ordering KFC for Christmas Eve, make sure you do it sometime today. You usually have to call weeks in advance, so you’re late as it is. Not that that’s anything new,” he says, and you would normally roll your eyes at how the insults sneak in even when he’s giving advice, but there’s something bigger to address here.

How the hell does he know all this?

“Kiyoomi, do you usually spend Christmas alone?”

He nods. “Yeah. My family’s not religious, so we don’t make a big deal out of it. Komori and I talked about doing something a couple months ago, but that was before he got a girlfriend. I think they’re going out for dinner on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh. I see.”

You want to ask more – if he ever gets lonely, if he’s jealous that all his friends are dating, if he’s bothered in the slightest that he won’t see his parents till New Year’s – but the calm, composed look on his face tells you that the answer to all of those is probably no. And you feel sad that you can’t say the same.

“I’ll… order now,” you tell him instead, reaching for your phone to call the KFC location in Shibuya. Turns out, they’re fully booked with deliveries that day.

That’s fine. You try Shinjuku next.

They’re booked too.

And so are the locations in Aoyama, Harajuku, Ginza, and even Ikebukuro.

“How is that even _possible?”_ you wail, smothering your face with one of the throw pillows in frustration.

“Told you,” Sakusa says. You remove the pillow just so you can glare at him.

“I’m assuming you ordered in already?”

“Yeah, before I left for Brazil.”

“Before you left for… That was in _November!_ ”

“And now I have chicken. Can’t say the same for you,” he says, and the fact that there’s not even a lick of sarcasm in his voice pisses you off even more, because everything he said is true.

“You’re mean, Kiyoomi,” you say, slouching even farther into the couch cushions as you stare at the wall. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sakusa looking at you pensively, and if you know him as well as you think you do, he’s about to…

“I’m not sharing with you.”

…Crack. Wait, hold that thought.

“You’re kidding! I even let you use my shower!”

“It’s your fault I was covered in cab germs in the first place! I told you I was coming back today _weeks_ in advance. What was so important that you couldn’t make it?”

“I was Christmas shopping! I even bought something for you, you ungrateful cow.”

You scowl at him, scooting over to the far side of the couch just to put as much space between the two of you as possible. You could probably still return the gift if you went now. Wait, did you keep the receipt? You shake your head, it doesn’t matter. You could just keep it for yourself if you really wanted to, otherwise –

“…Fine, I’ll share with you,” Sakusa grumbles, forehead wrinkling into a frown when you peer over to look at him. “But there’s a game that day, so I won’t be home till late.”

Honestly, you would eat fried chicken with him at four in the morning if it meant not having to spend Christmas alone.

“That’s fine! Wow, this is so exciting!” You clap your hands together as you grin from ear-to-ear, anger forgotten. That is until he speaks again.

“You should shower. You, um... you smell like sweat,” he says before rising from the couch to exit the living room. The chorus of thank-you’s on the tip of your tongue completely vanishes as you glare at his retreating back.

“And whose fault do you think–”

The sound of your front door shutting cuts you off, and you just sit there, seething. Maybe if Sakusa’s really late coming back, you can just pick up the chicken from his front door and eat all of it yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: Updates will now be coming once every 2 weeks!! I'm so, so sorry to all of you who've been looking forward to the weekly updates, but school applications have been driving me nuts these past few weeks, and I don't think it's a realistic schedule for me anymore. :( I hope you understand, and thank you for your patience!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, but Atsumu's not feeling so hot. The KFC is, though, but that's not enough to make it okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're all staying safe and healthy in 2021. I know it's been a difficult time for a lot of people, especially with what's going on in America and the rise in COVID cases around the world. :( It isn't much, but I hope this chapter can bring you even the tiniest bit of comfort during these hard times. As always, I appreciate your readership, support, and patience. Thank you! :)

Throughout his life, Sakusa has been criticized for being apathetic, needlessly harsh, and totally oblivious to other people’s feelings. The first two are true, but Sakusa’s ready to argue with anyone who will listen that no, the third one is not.

There’s been something bothering Atsumu for the past couple months, and at first, the signs were so subtle that Sakusa was the only one who caught them; even then, he didn’t think too much of it. It was kind of weird, sure, how Atsumu ran to check his phone every time they had a break, and the fact that he stopped making fun of Bokuto’s dorky dance moves wasn’t lost on Sakusa either. But it was only after their trip to Brazil that he, along with the rest of the team, started to suspect there might be something wrong.

Sakusa’s used to being the crabby one when they travel overseas – the hotel staff in Belgium, Argentina, South Korea, and now Brazil can attest to that – but for all three weeks of their training camp, it was Atsumu that the team took to avoiding.

Bokuto had been jet-lagged for three days straight because he had the misfortune of sitting next to Atsumu on the plane. Every time he dozed off, he’d be woken up seconds later by Atsumu shaking his shoulders and yelling at him for snoring too loudly. When they finally landed, one of the camp organizers – some guy who only spoke Portuguese and English – got a very confusing rant in Kansai-dialect Japanese about how he was getting fingerprints all over Atsumu’s limited-edition Tumi suitcase. Even Hinata, the poor soul who drew the short straw and had to room with the guy, wasn’t safe.

Sakusa stayed with Bokuto in the next room over, but even with the supposedly sound-proof walls in the hotel, they could hear every word from next-door.

“Oi, Shrimpy! I thought I told ya not to leave yer duffel bag at the foot of my bed! I could’ve tripped and broken something!”

“But, but…! Tsumu-san, it’s six feet away and tucked against the wall!”

“Do ya know what’d happen to my career if I tripped over yer junk and hurt myself?! It’d be over, and it’d be all yer fault, so stop being such a slob, ya little tangerine!”

Sakusa would’ve laughed at the irony of that if it wasn’t for the bitter, almost volatile tone of Atsumu’s voice. Hinata came over to his and Bokuto’s hotel room a few minutes later seeking refuge, and after a long discussion between the three of them, they came to the decision that as long as Atsumu’s gameplay wasn’t affected, it wasn’t their place to pry. And that served them well, since his performance throughout the camp was exemplary, just like always.

Except today, they have an actual game. _And_ _he’s totally off._

“Left!” Sakusa yells as he charges forward, leaping off the ground. The ball leaves Atsumu’s hands, flies by Sakusa before he can even swing his arm, and hits the ref dead in the face. The man doubles over in pain as he clutches his bruised nose, but after a moment, the whistle is blown and he motions to the opposing team. First set, Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sakusa asks him, half-annoyed and half-concerned as they make their way over to Coach Foster with the rest of the team. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, just balls his fists up and stares at the ground with his teeth bared in a scowl. His whole body is shaking, and although Sakusa has trusted Atsumu in every game they’ve ever played together, he doesn’t think that’ll be the case tonight.

Halfway through the second set, Foster seems to think so too.

Atsumu’s head is down, his jaw is tight, and there are angry tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he brushes past Sakusa on his way to the bench. Sakusa doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so ashamed of himself. It’s jarring – sad, even – to see someone as prideful as Atsumu finally fall from grace. It’s only made worse by the fact that he’s replaced with a fresh-out-of-college rookie the Jackals picked up from the last V. League draft.

Honestly, considering the fact that this is his first time playing in an official game, the kid holds his own pretty well. The Rockets still win in straight sets, though, and the Jackals are absolutely devastated as they make their way to the locker rooms.

No one even says anything; no one needs to. They all just change in silence, and although everyone is disappointed, the waves of anger and shame radiating off of Atsumu overpower anything anyone else is feeling by at least ten-fold. Sakusa knows it, and he’s pretty sure all his teammates do too, but eventually, the tension in the air grows so thick that their captain just has to say something.

“Miya,” Shugo starts, careful to keep his voice even and tone neutral. “What happened out there tonight?”

Atsumu slams his locker shut, eyes flashing, and Sakusa braces himself for what he’s sure is going to be another scream-fest. But it never comes.

Atsumu just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is bare, broken and honest in a way that Sakusa’s never heard it before.

“I’m sorry. I’ll snap out of it next time, I promise, I just… I’m sorry.”

He zips his jacket, shoulders his duffel bag, and he’s out of the locker room before anyone can say another word. Hinata makes to go after him, but Sakusa stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head no, and Hinata listens.

* * *

Atsumu never thought he’d be spending Christmas Eve alone in a bar with only two other patrons: a balding, middle-aged man with a beer belly and Sapporo to match, and a woman about the same age with greying hair pulled back into a frizzy ponytail. They’re sitting together in the corner booth actually, smiling like they’re the only people in the room – they are, for the most part – and the sight makes Atsumu feel even more pathetic than he did before.

He looks down at the old-fashioned he’s been nursing for the past ten minutes now, swirling it around so that the rye whiskey catches the dim light of the lampshade hanging overhead. The coppery colour reminds him of Ayako’s eyes, and the fact that he’s still thinking about her makes him scoff. He knocks back the rest of the glass and slams it against the splintered wood of the bar, the alcohol burning his throat.

Atsumu’s been popular since high school. Back then, he didn’t have a registered fanclub online, but the girls still came flocking to every game with banners, posters, and even pre-written cheers that annoyed the hell out of him, yes, but definitely boosted his ego.

There are even more of them now, in fact. _Atsumu’s Squealing Pigs –_ he’ll never understand fangirl logic, but it’s not his place anyway – has nine hundred thousand members and counting, coming just short of Bokuto’s one million. Where Atsumu wins, though, is in the number of women he’s actually dated. And in that category, he probably surpasses not only Bokuto, but everyone else on the team, too.

The unfortunate thing is that up until this year, all of Atsumu’s relationships have only lasted a couple weeks, maybe two months at most. And more often than not, it’s because the girls are always so insecure and clingy that they never give him space to breathe. That worked out just fine in his high school and college days; he was too busy trying to build his career to worry about dating anyways. But after entering his twenties and securing a spot in the V. League, Atsumu had thought it best to finally settle down with someone.

Someone like him, just to avoid all the problems he had in the past. Someone confident and flirty and laidback, someone exciting and mysterious who would keep him on his toes.

He met Nakamura Ayako, an actress and singer, at the V. League celebratory banquet a year ago. And she was so beautiful, so magnetic and graceful and elegant, that in hindsight, Atsumu knows he was done for the moment he laid eyes on her.

They dated for eight months, and the first six were probably the happiest of Atsumu’s life. She was always a little distant, but it was so refreshing that it just made him want her more. He thinks back on it now, and the memories make him scowl: how he had to beg her to wear the jewellery he bought for her; how even when he was in a different time-zone, he had to call when it was convenient for her or not at all; how he was never allowed to reveal their relationship to the public because ‘it wasn’t good for her career’. Everything she made him do hurt his pride, but he didn’t even notice, really, because Ayako was more than enough for him.

Again, the thought makes Atsumu scoff. He waves down the bartender and orders another whiskey.

The last two months of their relationship were difficult, at least for him. Ayako had to make a temporary move to Osaka for a movie shoot, but Atsumu was content to keep things up long distance if that’s what worked for her. Except, it felt like he was the only one trying.

She was never the most responsive before, but from the minute she left Tokyo, he was the only one calling and texting, even though – and Atsumu’s pretty sure about this – his schedule was just as busy as hers. In fact, he got so desperate that he was about one smirk away from making love to the camera on Baking with Bokuto. Anything to make her angry, or jealous, or just catch her attention, but it didn’t even work.

And Atsumu has ghosted people before – more times than he’d care to admit, sure – but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that’s what was happening to him. It was just the distance, he told himself. It had been too long since they’d seen each other, and she was just feeling lonely.

Atsumu reaches into his jacket pocket to take out the train ticket he bought weeks ago in secret. _Tokyo to Osaka, departing December 24_ _th_ _, 23:00._ The fact that he was actually going to surprise her on Christmas Day makes him laugh now, and he crumples the paper in his palm before throwing it at a trash can eight feet away. It rolls off the edge and onto the floor, like it’s mocking him, but Atsumu can’t find it in himself to go and pick it up.

Instead, he reaches into his other pocket for his phone and opens his messages. There are new ones from Hinata, Bokuto, and even Sakusa, but he scrolls past them to see the one she sent this morning.

 **Ayako, 7:32AM:** _it’s over. i’m sorry_

No explanation. And it didn’t even make Atsumu sad, really, just angry – not at her, but at himself. Because in those four words, the reality of his situation finally sank in, and he realized what a pathetic, needy, lovesick fool he’d been this whole time.

What’s worse is that he let his feelings get in the way on the court tonight, like a rookie with little experience and even less regard for his team – worse than a rookie, even, since they swapped him out for that college kid. The game happened an hour ago and Atsumu’s head is already starting to feel fuzzy from the alcohol, but every receive, set, and serve he flubbed tonight replays in his head with perfect clarity. His grip on the phone tightens as he reaches for his glass.

Atsumu knows he’s got a lot of pride, but it used to be okay because he had the skill to back it up. That wasn’t the case tonight, and he’ll be damned if he lets it happen again, but for now, there’s a cold, unfamiliar feeling of self-loathing creeping up his spine and into his heart.

“Gimme something stronger,” he tells the bartender. The words come out slurred, but Atsumu doesn’t even notice.

* * *

 **☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:19PM:** _In the elevator now, should be there in a couple minutes_

 **You, 10:20PM:** _Ok, the KFC got here ten minutes ago but I’ve been keeping it warm in my apartment dw_

 **☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:20PM:** _Ok, I’ll pay you back half the bill. You didn’t start without me, right?_

 **You, 10:21PM:** _WHO DO U THINK I AM?!_

 **☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:21PM:** _Wow, relax. You can come out, we’ll eat in my apartment. I don’t think you’ve ever visited._

 **You, 10:22PM:** _That’s cuz u said I would track in my ‘sewer germs’ -____-_

The memory makes you grimace as you hop off the couch, adjusting the oversized Christmas sweater you threw on for the occasion. You were initially going to wear your pyjamas, but you had nothing else to do today, so you went to the trouble of fixing up your hair, makeup and outfit to celebrate the holiday. At least Sakusa will see you, so it’s not a complete waste.

You pick up the bucket of fried chicken on the coffee table and transfer it to one arm, using the other to pick up the big paper bag carrying coleslaw, biscuits, and the special chocolate layer cake that KFC only sells for Christmas. Your business mind applauds their use of limited edition items to tempt the public into buying their food, but for you personally, it isn’t appreciated. It was hard enough not starting on the bucket without him – Sakusa probably wouldn’t even notice, who _actually_ counts the pieces? – but store-bought cake with cheap icing never looked so good. Maybe because you haven’t eaten since this morning.

There’s a knock on your door and you let out a sigh of relief. You can finally put that grumbling in your tummy to rest.

“Coming!”

You’re careful not to drop anything as you walk to the front foyer, mostly because you know Sakusa will never forgive you if you do. Gingerly, you set the paper bag down to open the door, and a masked Sakusa stands to greet you. There are water droplets hanging in his black curls from the snow outside, and it’s probably just the hallway lighting, but from this angle, they look like tiny stars.

“Where’s the cake? Did you eat it?” he asks, and that brings you back to reality immediately.

“Of course not! It’s in here,” you say, grabbing the bag from where it sits behind you in the foyer. You hold it out to him with a frown, but he ignores it as he accepts the bag from your hand and motions for you to follow him. You grab the wrapped present you left by the door earlier before tagging along.

The inside of Sakusa’s apartment is exactly what you expected: spotless and minimalistic, with lots of empty space and blank walls that make it look hardly lived-in, like a listing in a magazine rather than someone’s home. There’s a sofa and a TV in the open living room that you can see from here, and when Sakusa leads you into his kitchen, you have to wonder if he even eats in here regularly because the countertops – wow, are those granite? – are not just clean, they’re _sparkling._

“Make yourself at home,” Sakusa says, removing his mask. He takes out the sides and cake a moment later, placing them on the kitchen island before turning around to grab two plates from one of the upper cabinets.

“We both know you don’t mean that,” you reply, setting your bucket of chicken next to the rest of the food, and Sakusa’s present on one of the counters. “My home is a space where I eat, sleep, and live like a human being. Yours looks like it could be a surgical suite.”

Sakusa hums thoughtfully at that as he sets the plates down and reaches for two mugs.

“That’s true. Be comfortable, but don’t move anything from its spot, and for the love of God, do _not_ spill any food or drink, or I will vacate you from the premises.” His tone is completely serious, and although you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at that a month ago, it just makes you laugh now.

“Whatever makes you happy, Kiyoomi.”

“Do you want tea? Ginger is good because it’s flu season right now and it helps–”

“Boost the immune system, I know. Yeah, sounds good.”

By the time you finish filling up both plates with chicken, slaw, and biscuits, the kettle has stopped whistling, and Sakusa is pouring a steaming mug of tea to hand off to you. It warms your fingers, which have been freezing all day even with the space heater on, and when you take a sip, the flavour reminds you of the trays of food Sakusa left during his first week at the apartment. The memory makes you smile as you join him on the couch.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me eat here instead of at the table. What if I spill something?” you ask as you plop down on the seat cushions. They’re firm, unlike your own, and the force of the impact makes you wince.

“If that happens, I’m kicking you out, but clean-up shouldn’t be too bad. It’s like the seats in my car, remember?” You do. Running your hand over the glossy plastic covers wrapped around the couch cushions, you begin to consider the benefits. You’ve been known to spill something here and there – maybe more than that, if you’re being honest – but you don’t know if you can sacrifice your comfort for the convenience.

“Rough game tonight, huh?” you ask, biting into a drumstick. You watched it from beginning to end, and it’ll never cease to amaze you how confident and focused they all are on the court. Sakusa looks like a different person almost, and you would never believe that the little guy who can jump a metre in the air is sweet, naïve Hinata if Sakusa didn’t confirm it beforehand.

Hinata reminds you of that girl you ran into in Miyagi, actually – the one who spiked a ball into your face.

“Yeah, it was… tough,” Sakusa says, slipping on a pair of latex gloves before digging into a chicken thigh. You didn’t even see him take them out.

“Everything okay with Atsumu?”

Sakusa is silent for a moment, just staring down at his plate before shrugging.

“I don’t know. He’s been kind of stressed the past couple months, and it got worse during the training camp, but I didn’t want to pry. I think it’s something personal.”

You nod slowly. “I’m sorry. That must be tough on him. You guys, too.”

“Yeah,” Sakusa says, and an uncomfortable silence fills the air, one that you have no intention of allowing to continue. It’s Christmas Eve, and even if you’re single in a country that uses this day to celebrate romance, you’re going to enjoy yourself.

“So when’d you start playing volleyball?”

“Hm? Oh, when I was really young. My brother got me into it, actually.”

“And you didn’t send him any soap?”

“He didn’t raise me. We’ve been over this.”

You find out that Sakusa’s first time playing volleyball was at a kids’ day camp his brother was volunteering at, and that leads into a story about how he burned a hole in his brother’s jeans with bleach in high school. Naturally, _that_ leads to a story about how you tried to tie-dye a T-shirt once, only to have the colours wash out because you mixed the dye with hot water instead of warm like it said in the instructions. At one point, you turn on the TV and flick through the channels until you see a showing of _Home Alone._ The movie’s already halfway over, but the two of you wait for the scene where the Wet Bandits get tangled up in all of Kevin’s traps before returning to your conversation, the sound of the television fading into the background.

The time goes by much too quickly for your liking, and it’s only when both of you have polished off a slice of cake that you decide to give Sakusa his present.

“Stay here, I’ll be just a second.” You hop off the couch and dash to the kitchen, where the little box you brought with you still lies on the counter. Hopefully he’ll like it, but after all the effort you put in to acquire this thing, you don’t even care. It wasn’t even _at_ the Christmas market; you had to search up the nearest in-person location to buy one, which happened to be at a mall five train stops away.

And apparently there are a lot of other germaphobes in Tokyo, because the line-up to purchase one of these things snaked around three other stores and a Cinnabon stall. No wonder you couldn’t make it to the airport in time.

“Here,” you say, handing the wrapped box to Sakusa as you re-enter the living room. You plop down on the couch, gently this time, as he tears the wrapping paper off by the tape to eliminate any mess. It’s so characteristic of him that you have to smile.

 _“‘Phone sanitizer and charger’?”_ he reads from the label, looking up at you curiously.

“Yeah, it’s a little box that you put your phone inside, and it uses UV light to clean it while it’s charging. It’s supposed to kill 99.99% of germs – thought you’d appreciate that. It’s small enough that you can bring it around when you travel, too.”

For about a minute, Sakusa’s gaze flickers back and forth between you and the box in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a funny look in his eyes: they’re wide with disbelief, but then they soften with something akin to gratitude – fondness, maybe? The thought is wiped from your mind when he finally smiles, and although you’ve always loved the subtlety of seeing just his eyes as they crinkle at the corners, there’s a whole other feeling that fills you now that you can see his entire face.

“Thank you, (Y/N). This is really thoughtful,” he says, and for some reason, the way he looks you in the eye makes your heart stutter, just for a second. You’re not sure why your face is getting so warm now – maybe it’s his imported space heater. You should ask him where you can get one.

“I have something for you, too,” he says, and you’re almost grateful when he finally leaves the room. He returns a moment later with a tiny gold gift box, and when you open it, you’re a little surprised, but you have to laugh.

“Kiyoomi, this card is for a year-long membership to _Hard Core Workouts_.”

“Yeah, because even though I got sexually assaulted there, you seemed to have a good time. And you said that one of your New Year’s resolutions was going to be exercising more regularly, so I thought it’d be good. See, it even includes sessions at their sister water aerobics studio,” he says, gently taking the card from your hands so he can flip it over to show you. _Aquarobics._ Hm. You’ll have to check it out sometime.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi. I really like it,” you say, and even though there’s a laugh still bubbling out of your chest, you mean it.

“If you’re really scared about going alone, I’ll tag along with you, but only if you agree to stay within a five foot radius at all times,” he says, looking you dead in the eye.

“That’s sweet of you,” you say, and a moment passes before you tag on, “Merry Christmas, Kiyoomi.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

And it really is. You think back to last year, when you spent the holiday with your ex at a restaurant that _you_ made reservations at, gave him a gift that _you_ prepared, and got cut off in the middle of telling him how much you loved him by a call from his ‘workplace’ – you’re not even sure how true that is now – before he had to leave for an emergency.

You picked up the tab, of course, and the fact that he didn’t buy you anything for Christmas was a disappointment, but not a surprise.

Sakusa must’ve spent that Christmas by himself. You probably would’ve been better off doing the same, but it’s hard to say because you’re nowhere near as independent as he is.

“Kiyoomi, I didn’t ask before, and I hope you don’t mind now, but… do you ever get lonely spending Christmas by yourself?” you ask, returning the card to its box as you set it down on Sakusa’s coffee table.

“No, not really,” he replies. “I have volleyball recordings to keep me busy, Komori before he got a girlfriend, and if I really needed to, I could always call some of the guys on the team to keep me company.”

Yeah, that’s about what you were expecting.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s _missing_ , really,” Sakusa continues, rubbing the back of his neck as he searches for words. “It’s not like there’s a void that needs to be filled, it’s just… it’s like a plain onigiri. Which is perfectly fine on its own, but if you put an umeboshi in it, then it’s even better.”

…What?

You’ve grown accustomed to most of Sakusa’s quirks and flaws in the six months you’ve known him, but he’s never been one to make analogies – let alone one so _obscure_ – so you can’t help but be a little perplexed right now.

“And what is this metaphorical umeboshi supposed to represent?”

“Spending Christmas with someone I care about, who cares about me.”

There’s an awkward silence that fills the room after he says it. Awkward for you, at least, because your cheeks are even redder than before, so much so that you can’t really blame it on Sakusa’s luxury space heater anymore.

“It’s sort of like, hmm…” He pauses a moment before continuing. “I was content with my life before, and then after I moved, all these crazy, annoying things kept happening to me. But somehow, my life feels a little brighter now. And if I moved back to my old apartment tomorrow, I would probably still be fine, you know? It’s not like I’d be too sad to function or anything, I just…”

He trails off for a moment, staring at the ground to think before raising his head to meet your eyes again. “I think I’d just miss this place a little bit.”

You had your doubts before, but now you are most definitely sure that there’s a weird tension building in the room.

“You’d miss this place, really? Including me?” You ask it teasingly in hopes of clearing the air, but it backfires because his reply is dead-serious.

“Yes. Of course.”

And now the silence is back with a vengeance, and you feel like you could drown in it.

“Kiyoomi, do you–”

You’re interrupted by a knock on the door, but Sakusa hasn’t moved, and you’re content to stay where you are too.

“Do you–”

The knocking persists, except this time, it’s accompanied by a voice. A familiar one.

“Oi, Omi-omi! It’s me! Answer the door, ya freak… come on!”

“Is that…?”

“Atsumu?!” Sakusa runs for the door, his eyes wide and movements frantic, sloppy almost. You follow behind him, entering the foyer just as he opens the door to reveal a very drunk Atsumu slumped against the wall, eyes hooded and a smile lazier than usual curved around one side of his face.

“Omi-omi! You really, _hic_ … answered the door for me…” He shoves past Sakusa, but doesn’t get very far before collapsing in the foyer face-first, only a few feet away from where you’re standing. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, Atsumu rolls onto his back to look up at Sakusa.

“Sorry, I must look so pathetic right now…” he slurs, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as he says between hiccups, “Shoyo’s, _hic,_ on a train to Miyagi… and Osamu’s, _hic,_ makin’ deliveries… and even Bokuto, _hic,_ is havin’ a boys’ night with Akaashi… I didn’t know where else to go…”

Atsumu starts laughing, but the sound quickly dissolves into quiet, pitiful wheezes as he removes his hand from his eyes and looks straight up at Sakusa.

“Ayako dumped me. Actually, _hic…_ she dumped me months ago… I just, _hic,_ didn’t realize it until now…” The words give you flashbacks to that night in the rain, when you came home drenched and utterly destroyed, both physically and emotionally. It’s been months now, and you thought you were okay, but seeing the same thing play out in front of your very eyes makes your heart ache.

“Should I call Osamu?” Sakusa asks, squatting down so that he’s eye-level with Atsumu. His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“No!” Atsumu jerks up suddenly, shaking his head. “No, I… I’m too tired to, _hic,_ move right now. Can I just, _hic,_ crash here?”

And there’s no way in hell Sakusa’s going to agree to that, you’re almost positive, but either Christmas miracles do exist, or Sakusa’s a lot nicer than you give him credit for, because then he says:

“Sure, yeah. Of course. Can you stand?”

“Think so…” Atsumu tries to get up, but he immediately stumbles and falls to the ground again. As he groans, Sakusa just sighs.

“(Y/N), would you–”

“On it.”

You and Sakusa each drape one of Atsumu’s arms over your shoulders as you lift him to his feet, and although it takes some grunts of effort on your part, you eventually manoeuvre him onto the couch.

Sakusa disappears to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, leaving you alone with Atsumu.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” you say, patting his head instinctively. He doesn’t flinch like Sakusa, so you assume he doesn’t mind. “I know it sucks right now, but things will get better. They did for me at least, and I was ghosted for two months before he dumped me on our anniversary.”

Atsumu rolls over on the couch to glare at you, but the gesture isn’t particularly intimidating when his eyes are half-lidded under the influence of what must’ve been a gallon of whiskey. “Well I, _hic…_ got dumped on Christmas Eve, so who’s really, _hic…_ more pathetic here?”

“I don’t think that’s something to brag about,” Sakusa says as he re-enters the living room, glass of water in hand. He passes it to Atsumu, who gulps it down greedily before collapsing into the sofa again. He winces. Yup, you’ve been there.

The water seems to sober him up, at least, because he looks at you and says, “Sorry, 603-san. That sucks. Thanks for… trying to make me…” Atsumu interrupts himself with a yawn, and a moment later, he’s snoring peacefully on the couch. Sakusa comes over to turn him on his side.

“Sorry about this,” he says to you, and you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it, I had fun. Let me know if you need help with him. I’ve got experience.” You try to wink, but close both eyes at once, and Sakusa lets out a rare laugh. The weird tension in the room has dissipated with Atsumu’s entrance, and you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved.

“Merry Christmas, Kiyoomi.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu's fine, absolutely fine, perfectly fine.
> 
> ...Except that's a big fat lie and everyone knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're all safe and healthy. :) I just wanted to tell you that I'm incredibly grateful for all of your love and support. The past two weeks have been a little rough for me, but reading all your comments definitely cheered me up. Love you all!! ^_^

Three weeks have passed since Christmas Eve, and much to the relief of Sakusa and his teammates, Atsumu has basically returned to normal. He shows up to practice on time, he’s focused during training drills, and his performance on the court is back up to its usual standard. If anything, he’s gotten even better, and Sakusa chalks it up to the fact that he’s been staying late every night to practice – usually until the custodial staff kicks him out.

(They’re all a bunch of gossips, but Sakusa loves them anyway because they keep the place from smelling like sweat all day long.)

“Oi Miya, great job today!” Shugo claps Atsumu on the back as he swings his duffel bag over one shoulder and leaves the locker room.

“Thanks, Captain.”

Yes, everything is back to normal.

“Tsumu-san! There’s a new restaurant in Shinjuku that’s supposed to have the best pork buns in Tokyo, do you wanna–”

“Sorry Shoyo, not today.”

…Except for the fact that Atsumu hasn’t spoken a word to anyone on the team that wasn’t about volleyball. Sakusa never thought he’d miss his mindless rambling so much.

“Uh… okay, fine! Why don’t we all stay behind for late-night practice? We haven’t done that in forever!” Hinata’s eyes are wide and pleading, sparkling in the way that only he seems capable of, and Sakusa and Bokuto both peer over curiously. Atsumu just sighs.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that.” Hinata doesn’t relent, and with just the four of them in the locker room, there’s nowhere for Atsumu to run. So he sighs again, already unzipping his jacket as he says, “Fine. Two-on-two, let’s go.”

Hinata lets out a sound too high to be a roar and too low to be a squeal, but it conveys his excitement just as well. Likewise, Bokuto lets out a “Hey, hey, hey!” before changing out of his winter jacket and into a fresh T-shirt. Sakusa doesn’t doubt that they’re both genuinely happy about getting a late-night session in – Hinata wasn’t lying, it’s been ages since they held one altogether – but he knows there’s an ulterior motive here.

At this point, Sakusa’s the only one who knows what happened to Atsumu on Christmas Eve, and he knows it’s killing Bokuto and Hinata to be left in the dark, but it really isn’t his place to say anything. Hell, it’s possible that Atsumu’s own _brother_ doesn’t even know.

On Christmas Day, Osamu came to pick him up from the apartment first thing in the morning, and without the alcohol in his system, Atsumu was a lot less vocal than he’d been the night before. All he did was thank Sakusa for letting him spend the night, and then he was trudging behind Osamu to leave, his head hung low. He didn’t even refute any of the insults Osamu threw at him, and there were some pretty nasty ones mixed in there.

Even though he’s never mentioned it again, Sakusa’s sure that Atsumu remembers everything he told him that night, because whenever they lock eyes during practice, Atsumu immediately looks away with some odd emotion painted on his face. Embarrassment? Shame?

It’s not like Sakusa can ask.

“I call Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto calls behind his shoulder as he races out of the locker room and onto the court. Atsumu just groans as he stalks out behind him, and Hinata whines about the teams as he unlocks the storage closet and pulls out the ball cart. Sakusa can’t help but be offended by that, but he really shouldn’t be – he knows better than anyone that Hinata and Bokuto are just here to pester Atsumu for answers like they’ve been doing all month.

(Honestly, the whole team’s been worried, but as long as Atsumu is doing his job on the court, it’s not like they can really say anything. That hasn’t stopped the two of them, though, no matter how much Sakusa tries to ward them off.)

“Tsum-tsum, nice serve!” Bokuto’s shout echoes around the gym as Atsumu glares at him, still holding the ball. Bokuto shrinks in on himself at that, offering a silent fist bump in apology that has Atsumu rolling his eyes. He tosses the ball high in the air before his feet leave the ground and his palm connects with it, hurtling the ball into Sakusa and Hinata’s backcourt.

 _Bam!_ “Shoyo, nice receive!” Sakusa calls as the ball sails through the air.

Hinata gives him a strained smile, his teeth clenched in pain. Sakusa can’t blame him. Honestly, no matter how many times he picks up Atsumu’s serves, they still make his forearms hurt like hell, too.

“Omi-san, left!”

Sakusa sets the ball, and he curses under his breath because the toss is way too close to the net. He knows he should cut himself some slack, seeing as their last two-on-two game was months ago, but… Wait no, hold on. It’s not too close. If Hinata can just–

“Tsum-tsum, you ever gonna tell us what happened on Christmas Eve?”

“Oi, Bokuto. For the last time, _nothing–”_

Sakusa’s known from day one that Hinata’s got good reflexes, but even he can’t be expected to stop mid-spike on account of Atsumu yelling at Bokuto.

It doesn’t help that Atsumu is positioned in the frontcourt, either.

_Bam!_

“…Oh my God, Shoyo broke Tsum-tsum!”

Atsumu collapses to his knees as he clutches his nose, the ball bouncing away innocently as all three of his teammates look on in horror. He groans in pain, and Sakusa’s sure that his nose is bleeding at best, broken at worst. Maybe both, but he’s keeping his fingers crossed, at least for Hinata’s sake.

“Tsumu-san, I’m so sorry!” Hinata comes bounding over to the opposite side of the court, ducking beneath the net as he joins Atsumu on the floor to kneel by his side. “Are you okay?”

Atsumu lifts his head up but doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he glares daggers at Bokuto, who yelps as Atsumu finally stands and stalks over to him, hands off his face and blood flowing freely from his nose. The red staining the floor would normally make Sakusa cringe, but the look on Atsumu’s face is murderous and demands attention.

“Oi, _Bokuto!_ Ya wanna know so bad?!” Atsumu’s lip curls into a sneer as Bokuto gulps nervously. The tone of his voice is reminiscent of the hotel in Brazil, but this time, it is absolutely dripping with contempt.

“I got dumped _,_ okay?! I got dumped over text on Christmas Eve like an ugly, clingy _loser_ , and it messed with my head so bad that I effed up on the court!” Atumu’s breaths are coming in heavy pants now, and there are angry tears pooling in his eyes. The expression on his face reminds Sakusa of the Christmas Eve game.

“God, I’m so _pathetic_ …” Atsumu says in a broken whisper, voice cracking on the last word. Even from where he’s standing, Sakusa can tell that he’s shaking from head-to-toe. He’s hanging his head now too, as if he doesn’t want them to see the emotions on his face.

A moment passes by in silence. When Atsumu lifts his head for the second time, the look in his eyes makes Bokuto not only flinch, but take a step back.

“ _Goddammit_ Bokuto _,_ why the hell are ya so _persistent?!”_ He’s screaming now, and the sound echoes everywhere in the empty gymnasium. “Thank God I went to Sakusa’s place that night! Do me a favour, would ya? _Stay the_ _hell outta my personal life!”_

He shoves Bokuto to the side as he storms off to the locker room, slamming the door behind him so hard that it rattles on the hinges. Bokuto’s eyes are wide with guilt and shock, glued to Atsumu’s retreating back -- when it’s gone, he just stares at the locker room door wordlessly.

“You guys shouldn’t have pushed him like that. Look what you did,” Sakusa says weakly. Even he can’t find it in himself to scold them properly, not when Bokuto’s hair has literally deflated to half its normal volume.

“Omi-san! You knew and didn’t tell us?” Hinata demands, eyes flashing. Sakusa’s tempted to bring up the fact that he was the one who spiked the ball into Atsumu’s face in the first place, but that wouldn’t be productive at this point.

He sighs. “Okay, idiots. Guess there’s no point in hiding it now…”

* * *

By some miracle, the next day is Saturday, which means the Jackals don’t have practice. Sakusa’s sure that Bokuto and Hinata probably need some time to process everything, and Atsumu could really use a chance to cool off.

_Ring-ring-ring!_

Speak of the devil.

Well, the devil’s twin, but close enough.

“Hey Osamu, what’s up?” Sakusa says, resting his phone in the crook between his neck and shoulder as he pauses the volleyball recording playing on TV. “How’s your brother?”

“Could be better, but ya probably knew that already.” And there’s not much Sakusa can say to that – it’s true, after all – so a long silence ensues instead. Osamu breaks it with a sigh. “What happened at practice yesterday?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath before diving into the hellscape of that particular memory. “So Bokuto and Hinata were being dumbasses again…”

And he tells Osamu everything. How Hinata suggested staying late, how Atsumu took a spike to the face because Bokuto distracted him, how Atsumu then _blew up_ and spilled everything before cursing Bokuto out – not like he usually does, but with actual intent – and leaving without another word.

He hears from Osamu that Atsumu’s been okay, physically at least – he’s still eating well, showering regularly, and hasn’t had any alcohol since Christmas Eve. Sakusa hums in approval. Atsumu is still a professional athlete after all, and he’s got too much pride to let himself go like that. It’s literally in the job description.

Osamu also throws in some details that Sakusa could’ve really done without, like how during the first week, Atsumu went club-hopping and brought home a different girl every night. Only thing was, they all looked like Ayako, which made him emotional halfway through, so he ended up sending them home before anything could actually happen. Osamu had to deal with the aftermath of that, and needless to say, he wasn’t happy.

“So all these girls just storm out cursin’ out Tsumu, and yeah, I can live with that ‘cause I do it all the time – but then they start comin’ onto _me,_ Sakusa, _me!_ Ya know what it’s like to have a girl crawl all over ya, and she won’t let go even when ya say no, so ya have to pry her off?”

Sakusa grimaces, memories of your first Pilates class flashing through his mind. “Yeah, must be tough,” he deadpans through the phone.

“I need ya to come over, Sakusa, I just… he won’t talk to me. And he banned Bokuto from the house, and he doesn’t want Hinata to see him like this, so… yer kind of my last option?”

“Flattering, thanks.”

“Ya know what I mean! C’mon, please?”

Staying at this apartment for seven months must be making Sakusa soft, because he feels his heart tug a little bit at the earnest tone in Osamu’s voice. He wants to help, he really does, but he’s never been in a relationship, let alone gone through a breakup as messy as Atsumu’s, so he’s not really in any position to be offering advice.

…But you are.

“Okay, Osamu, I’ll come over. Can I bring a friend?”

“Ya really will?! Okay, yeah, sure, whatever ya want. See ya in a bit!”

The line clicks, and as soon as it does, Sakusa scrolls down to your contact to ring you up. His thumb hovers over the call button, and in his mind, he rehearses what to say to you for a minute before shaking his head and pressing it. He’s being ridiculous.

“Kiyoomi? What’s up?”

“Need a huge favour. Can you come with me to Atsumu’s place? I need you to talk to him.”

“What?! Oi, _Sakusa_ , I don’t even know him.” Sakusa flinches when you call him that. He’s not sure when he got used to you calling him by his name, but he knows now that he can never go back.

“When I told you that you could ask me for help, I meant along the lines of _me_ telling _you_ what to say to him.” Even though Sakusa can’t see you, he can hear the frown in your voice. He can understand why you’re so sceptical, but he’s really running out of options here.

…Screw it, he’s gonna go for it.

There’s one trump card that Sakusa’s been saving for months now, and he really didn’t want to use it this soon, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You poked my eye during the fire alarm. You owe me.”

“I poked your– Really, you’re still holding onto that?!”

“You never apologized!”

“…Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ll only accept the apology if you come over to Atsumu’s place to talk some sense into him.”

You’re silent for so long that Sakusa fears he lost connection, but a moment later, you finally grumble your answer.

“…Fine. I’ll text you my location, _Sakusa.”_

It’s his turn to frown when you hang up. He’s still not sure why it bothers him so much to hear you call him that, but it’s probably nothing.

* * *

“Samu, I already told ya I don’t want any more onig– 603? What’re ya doin’ here, who let ya in?”

You find Atsumu lying on his bed, setting a volleyball again and again over his head, but he stops immediately when he notices you at the door. And wow, from the sight of his room alone, you can understand why Sakusa always refers to him as his polar opposite.

Half his bookshelf is strewn on the floor in messy stacks of manga volumes, and – hey wait, you’ve read some of these. Volleyball posters hang all over the walls and ceiling, photos from high school sit in odd corners of his desk and nightstand, scribbled sticky note memos are posted all over the window, and a framed Black Jackals jersey hangs over his bed: _Miya, 13._

Atsumu’s place looks lived-in and intimate, traces of him evident in every inch of the space. It’s messier than Sakusa’s apartment, not that that’s a bad thing. It’s just… different.

“Oi, I asked you a question like a minute ago.”

“Kiyoomi! Kiyoomi let me in, um… Hi, Miya-san. How’s it going?” You internally cringe at how shaky your voice comes out, and Atsumu’s responding eye-roll doesn’t do much to reassure you.

“Why’d he send a stranger? Go home, I don’t wanna speak to anyone.” Atsumu places the volleyball on the ground and rolls over onto his side so that his back faces you. The sight reminds you of a child throwing a fit, which is odd considering he’s a grown man who stands a head taller than you, if memory serves you right.

“Hey, I know things are tough right now, but–”

“Why’re ya talkin’ as if ya _know_ me?” He sits up suddenly to glare at you, and if you weren’t so used to seeing the same expression on Sakusa, you would probably flinch. “We’ve only met once.”

“Twice, actually. I was at Sakusa’s place on Christmas Eve.”

“What? I don’t remember that.” Atsumu narrows his eyes at you as if he thinks you’re lying, and you sigh. This is going to be a long afternoon.

“I doubt you remember a lot of things, you were pretty wasted that night.”

“Hey, don’t ya _dare_ go judgin’ me!”

“I wasn’t–”

“Ya don’t even know what happened!” He crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, as if daring you to go on. When it’s clear you have no intention of refuting that last comment, he lets out a sigh, and all the anger seems to drain out of him. Instead, his eyes go dull and his shoulders slouch forward, like he wants nothing more than to just disappear.

“I wish ya’d all just leave me alone. None of ya know how I feel right now.” He rolls over to lie on his side again, except this time, the way he buries his face into his pillow reminds you of a child that was just scolded. You feel waves of sympathy begin to stir in your chest as you approach the bed.

“I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Whaddya mean?” Atsumu says, his voice still muffled by the pillow.

You debate whether you should just give him a vague overview, or at the very least, leave out the more embarrassing details, but it’s not like Atsumu can really judge you when he’s in the same boat. And it’s been seven months at this point anyway, you can do this.

…But it’s still hard, and you find yourself only able to speak after about a minute. What’s worse is that your silence has made Atsumu curious now, and he’s removed his face from the pillow to stare at you.

You take a deep breath for what must be the fifth time now, and, bracing yourself, you begin.

“…My ex started ghosting me after almost a year of being together, and I guess in his mind it was over, but I didn’t want to believe it. So I decided to surprise him at his workplace for our anniversary,” you say, the words coming out numb as you stare at the ground. You can feel Atsumu’s gaze burning through you, and it takes everything in you to ignore it.

“But when I got there, he had this other girl hanging off his arm. And then he went on and on about how I was his psycho ex who was too dumb to realize we were over, and then I tripped in my heels on the way out – seriously, I should just sue Steve Madden – and before I knew it, I was sobbing on the ground in front of all his coworkers. Like, it wasn’t pretty.”

Your voice gets stronger as you continue talking, and although you’ve given at least five separate accounts of this story to your friends, this is the first time you’ve been able to do it without crying. There’s an odd sort of strength you derive from that, and as you recall the last couple details, the sheer absurdity of it all has you ranting.

“And _then,_ I realized I left my train pass at home, and since no cabs would take me, I had to trudge home in the pouring rain! Without an umbrella. Barefoot. Don’t ask,” you warn, finally meeting Atsumu’s questioning gaze as your story draws to a close.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the perpetual slouch in his back is gone now, and his eyes seem a little more alive than they did before.

“…Why’re ya telling me this?” he asks after a minute.

“Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than someone you know,” you say, thinking of black curls and beauty marks. “When people care about you, it can be hard to open up because… they care about you? And you don’t want them to think you’re weak, or make them worry, and you’re scared you’ll fall apart even more if you know they’re there to catch you…”

Your thoughts stray to your friends and family, and how you waited longer than you probably should’ve to tell them about the breakup. You still feel guilty about it, but it was just so hard at the time. The sound of Atsumu shifting on the bed brings you back to the present.

“Sorry I’m making all these assumptions, I just thought you might be the same way since–”

“Since I haven’t talked to anyone,” he interrupts, and you’re grateful for it because you really didn’t want to be the one to say it aloud.

“…Yeah. So why don’t we give it a try?”

Atsumu cocks his head as he eyes you suspiciously. The way his gaze flickers back and forth over your face makes you feel oddly self-conscious, but eventually, he nods slowly and scoots over on the bed to make room for you.

“…Did part of ya ever know it was over? And ya just didn’t wanna believe it?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he asks the question, but the fact that he’s talking at all is a good sign. You smile kindly, and his eyes flick back up to your face for just a second before returning to his sushi-printed bedspread.

“Yeah, I think I knew deep down. There were always signs, but he made me feel so special in the beginning that I just dove in headfirst and ignored them.”

Atsumu nods almost imperceptibly, but he still doesn’t raise his head. A moment passes in silence before he asks his next question.

“It hurt worse when ya planned somethin’ special for him before he broke things off, didn’t it?”

“Of course! I made reservations at this really fancy restaurant two months in advance, and they _charged_ me for cancelling!”

“Yeah, I never got refunded for my ticket to Osaka either. I was even gonna see my mom.”

You can tell by the way Atsumu’s eyes go wide that he didn’t mean to let that slip out. He looks so completely dumbfounded that you almost feel bad for the guy, but you pat his shoulder twice before smiling encouragingly.

“You wanna talk about it?”

* * *

You can see from Atsumu’s open blinds that the sun has gone down now, leaving the sky an inky black too saturated with Tokyo smog to see the stars.

“No way! Omi made ya food?”

“Yeah, half out of pity I think. He spied on me and my ex from behind the plant, remember?”

“Right, right, almost forgot. Ya must be the first person besides Komori who’s tried his cooking. How was it?”

“Great. Amazing. Five stars. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”

Atsumu laughs at that, and you wonder how the time passed by so quickly. There’s a bit of lingering sadness still weighing him down, and his eyes don’t carry the same flirty twinkle you saw when you first met him, but you can tell he’s feeling better than he was a few hours ago.

“When you feel up to it, you should try talking to your brother and the guys,” you say, uncrossing your legs on the bed to stretch them out. You cringe at the prickly feeling in your calves as the blood recirculates. “I know Kiyoomi doesn’t show it, but he’s been worried sick.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on Atsumu’s bedroom door, and it opens to reveal a familiar face.

“Hey (Y/N), it’s almost midnight, we should probably get going. Hope you’re feeling better, Tsumu,” Sakusa says, the look in his eyes earnest despite the childish nickname.

“Yeah, thanks Omi.” Atsumu turns to you. “And thanks, 603.”

“My name is (L/N) (Y/N),” you say with a sneer, emboldened by the fact that you’ve been post-breakup venting with this guy for six hours now. “Call me (L/N)-san, please.”

“603 has a better ring to it. Ya can just call me Atsumu, all the guys do anyway. ‘Miya’ gets too confusing now that ya know Samu, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Sakusa frown at that, but it’s gone before you can tell. You pay it no mind.

“Okay, Atsumu-san. Kiyoomi has my number if you ever need to talk.”

“Okay. Thanks again!”

Atsumu sends you off with a wave as you follow Sakusa out of his bedroom. Osamu comes out from the kitchen to thank you too, and the bag of onigiri he’s prepared to-go makes you realize that it’s been hours since you last ate.

“Wow, this is really good, Kiyoomi,” you say as you bite into one on the car ride home. It took some convincing to get Sakusa to let you eat in the Lexus, but after reminding him that you just sacrificed your whole evening, he was quick to relent.

“Say that again.”

“…This is really good?”

“No, all of it.”

“...Wow, this is really good, Kiyoomi?”

Sakusa hums, satisfied, but you’re too busy polishing off a second rice ball to pay him any mind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day, but no one's got a date... not yet at least.
> 
> OR: Why Bokuto Should Never Play Matchmaker. EVER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I just wanted to thank all of you for your continuous support, not only for this work but also for my personal wellbeing. I was really touched by all of your comments last chapter!! ^_^ And for those of you wondering, I'm doing much better now. Uni applications wrap up this week, then it's a bunch of calculus and biology for me LOL. Hope you're all staying safe and healthy!!
> 
> The timing of this chapter actually works out pretty well, considering we've got Valentine's Day coming up soon. I hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry for any inaccuracies! Had to watch a bunch of aerobics videos for this, so hopefully it's not too bad...
> 
> Anyway, thank you again, and I hope you like the new chapter!! <3

“Well hey there, neighbour,” you say, smiling cheekily as you climb into the passenger seat. It’s only around 6PM, and even though the days have been getting longer, the winter sun’s still pretty elusive past 3 or 4. You don’t mind, though – Sakusa always parks in the same spot, so it’s not hard to find him.

“How was work?” he asks as you buckle your seatbelt.

“Not bad! We’re actually preparing for the company’s anniversary party right now, so things are a little busier than usual.” Sakusa hums thoughtfully.

“Yeah, the V. League banquet in the spring takes a lot of work too. Bokuto clogged the chocolate fountain last year, and I thought the event planners were gonna kick him out right there, but Atsumu talked them down.”

“Pfft. He’s good at that, huh?” Sakusa glances at you from the corner of his eye as he pulls out of the parking lot, but says nothing.

“How’s Bokuto, by the way? Atsumu told me he apologized, but I wasn’t sure if they made up or not.” You’re hoping they did. Atsumu’s been pretty bent out of shape about it, and he probably deserves to be, but it’s been adding to his insecurities lately and you just want him to be okay.

“Oh yeah, Bokuto’s fine. He’s a pain in the ass when he gets down on himself, but he bounces back pretty quickly. I think he’s kind of occupied at the moment, though. You remember his neighbour, the depressed one who bakes? He has a crush on this water aerobics instructor and she’s holding this couples’ class for Valentine’s Day, so he was gonna go just to ask her out, but he needed a partner. So Bokuto told him he’d go.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” You’ve grown a little disenchanted with Valentine’s Day this year, but if that isn’t the most adorable, Bokuto-esque thing you’ve ever heard, you’re not sure what is.

“Yeah, the class is at _Aquarobics._ It’s included in your membership, remember?”

“Oh, maybe I’ll go too then!” What a coincidence. You’ve been meaning to use up Sakusa’s Christmas present, but it’s been a little tough to fit in around your weekly talks with Atsumu.

You peer over to look at him now, and from the way he’s blinking a little too often and side-eyeing you every ten seconds, you can tell he wants to say something.

“You’ll… need a partner, though.”

“Oh, you’re right.” In your mind, you consider which of your coworkers might be free that day, when suddenly, a face pops into your head. It’s so obvious that you don’t know how you didn’t think of it before.

“I–”

“I’ll ask Atsumu!” You shoot up in your seat, fishing out your phone from the depths of your purse. “Taking up new hobbies is supposed to help you get over a breakup anyways. _Hey Atsumu… do you want… to come to water aerobics… with me next weekend?”_ And send.

“…If he says no, I could–”

“Oh, he responded! _Is that okay with Omi?_ What, why wouldn’t it be? _Yeah, of course.”_

“You know, I–”

“Oh, he said he’ll come!” You turn to Sakusa with a big smile, but the answering frown marring his face has you deflating, just slightly, in your seat. You feel your earlier confidence begin to wane. “Why, is it a bad idea?”

He sighs, and the tension in his brow releases. “No, it’s just… Maybe I should go, too. Keep those guys in line in case something happens.”

And yeah, that’s fair. From your brief stint as a camerawoman on _Baking with Bokuto,_ up until Atsumu taking a spike to the face last month – Sakusa gave you all the details afterwards – you can see why having a responsible, mature adult around would be a necessary insurance.

“Sure, sounds good. Do you have someone you can ask to be your partner?”

And oh, there’s that frown again. Sakusa narrows his eyes at you as he pulls into the parking garage beneath your apartment.

 _“_ …I’m sure I can find someone.”

* * *

True to his word, Sakusa _does_ find a partner to accompany him, and it’s exactly who you were expecting.

“(L/N)-san, hi! Isn’t this exciting?” Hinata says with a wave and a megawatt smile as he emerges from the changeroom in volleyball-printed swim trunks. His eyes are almost… sparkling? And on anyone else, it would look strange, but on him it just seems to fit.

“Yeah, for sure! Is Kiyoomi still changing?”

“Mm-hm. He’s disinfecting his swim shoes, but he should be out soon.”

“Yeah, sounds like Omi,” Atsumu comments from your right. “But Shoyo, you weren’t added to the group chat, were you?”

“What? You guys made a new group chat without me?” Hinata asks, a pout on his lips as his sparkly eyes grow decidedly dim. And normally, it’d be enough to tug at your heartstrings, but he’s really not missing out on much.

The messages Bokuto’s been sending to the group chat he made with you, Sakusa, Atsumu, and Inomata have ranged from barely sound to utterly nonsensical. They’re mostly possible scenarios in which Inomata can sweep his crush off her feet, and while you appreciate the enthusiasm, half of Bokuto’s plans are subpar at best, while the others are just doomed to fail. The one you all rejected immediately was Bokuto flinging himself into the pool on a rope swing while Inomata shields the instructor from the splash with his body.

The most ridiculous thing about the group chat is that it’s unironically named _Inomata’s very amazing and super reliable matchmaking squad._ But hey, maybe now that it’s D-Day, your rag-tag crew will pull through.

“Oh, hey Shoyo!”

Speak of the devil.

Bokuto almost slips on the pool deck while running over to join you, and you have to wonder how he ever became a pro athlete when he’s so clumsy all the time. Then again, you probably don’t have the right to comment.

“Bokuto-san! What’s this about a group chat? Why didn’t you add me?” Hinata demands, fists balling up at his sides. The action shouldn’t be cute, but on him, it really is.

“Eh? Oh, _that_ group chat,” Bokuto says, wiggling his eyebrows at Hinata. “Shoyo, there’s nothing to worry about. Daijoubu, daijoubu!”

After looking around for eavesdroppers, Bokuto leans down to whisper loudly in Hinata’s ear. “I’ll tell you the specifics later, but we’re about to play Cupid for _that_ man over there.”

He points to a rather jittery Inomata standing ten feet away, legs shaking and giant eye bags visible even from here, and gosh, you’re starting to feel nervous _for_ him. Inomata looks about a sniffle away from a mental breakdown, and from the odd time you’ve seen him in the halls, you’re pretty sure he’s acquired even more grey hairs than he had before. If he’s rapid-ageing as a result of Bokuto’s utterly ridiculous ideas in the group chat, then yeah, you can sympathize.

“Hey, I know that guy!” Hinata says, and both you and Bokuto cock your heads to the side curiously. Atsumu just scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, that’s the idiot who dropped a bottle of mayonnaise in the lobby,” he says, turning to look at Inomata with a scowl. “I can’t believe he yelled at ya for stepping on it. Weren’t ya even a little mad?”

“Hm? Not really, it was my fault. I feel worse for you – you slipped and fell in the puddle of mayo that squirted out.”

You try to cover up your laugh with a cough, but from the way Atsumu glares at you, you can tell it wasn’t very successful.

“Yeah, and that would’ve been enough to yell at him, but then he got mad at ya! Of course I had to do something.”

“I appreciate it, Tsumu-san, but that made the elevator ride with him really, _really_ awkward. It was worse cause he and Bokuto-san live on the same floor,” Hinata explains, now turning to look at you.

Atsumu just scoffs again. It suddenly makes sense why he was never a hundred percent on board with the whole matchmaking thing – in fact, you’re pretty sure the only reason he agreed to it is because he still feels bad about yelling at Bokuto. Part of you finds that a little endearing, actually.

Somewhere between Hinata waving at Inomata like a maniac and Atsumu grumbling beneath his breath, Sakusa emerges from the changeroom. And no matter how many times it’s happened before, you will never get used to (or tired of) seeing him shirtless.

“Omi-omi, ya made it!” Atsumu waves him over, and Sakusa rolls his eyes from above his mask as he approaches. He’ll have to take it off before he gets in the water, and part of you is a little excited that you’ll get to see his whole face today.

“Of course I made it. I can’t let you dumbasses get (Y/N) kicked out of her first class,” he says, and you’re not sure if it’s the humidity in here, but your cheeks are starting to feel awfully warm. You turn away from your group so that they won’t see your tomato-red face, and while doing so, you finally take note of the other couples standing around the pool.

And wow, there are a lot of mixed reactions to you and the rest of your squad.

“Oh my gosh, are those the instructors? They’re gorgeous!”

“Tch. I don’t see what’s so great about them.”

“Hon, look! Wow, all the best-looking guys really are gay. Or maybe they’re just friends?”

“Hey, I’m good-looking! And straight!”

“I think the blond one came with that girl. Ugh, she’s so lucky!”

“Wow, babe. Hurtful.”

You probably should’ve seen this coming after Sakusa’s experience at Pilates. The sight of four shirtless male athletes congregated at the rope swing was sure to draw some attention; you just didn’t realize how _much._ You’re almost starting to feel bad for the men as they watch their girlfriends ogle your rag-tag team of matchmakers, but at least the gay couple by the swirly slide is enjoying themselves.

“The one with the mask is the best-looking for sure! Those abs are _everything_!”

“No babe! It’s the one with the spiky salt-and-pepper hair, just _look_ at his arms!”

At least you aren’t blushing anymore. Of course, you can’t say the same for your companions – even with his mask on, you can see Sakusa’s ears turning bright red, and the sight makes you giggle.

“Welcome everyone, to _Aquarobics’_ Valentine’s Day couples’ class. You’re dating, you’re happy, _we get it,_ ” a decidedly unenthusiastic voice greets from the shallow end of the pool. You would’ve expected Inomata’s long-time crush to be a little… _peppier,_ but from the way his shaking increases ten-fold, you can tell this is Arobikusu. She’s pretty, you’ll give her that. Actually, her face reminds you of someone. Someone a lot more enthusiastic, someone–

“Hello everyone, my name is Piratisu! I’m here as a special guest to demonstrate the partner aerobics exercises with my sister. If you’re interested, I also lead Pilates sessions at _Aquarobics’_ sister studio, _Hard Core Workouts!_ Please, come into the pool so we can get started!”

It’s a bit strange to see your Pilates instructor wearing a one-piece and goggles instead of her yoga gear, but she’s still as radiant as ever. When she sees you climb into the pool, she gives you a big, toothy grin and a wave that you return enthusiastically. She does the same for Sakusa, but he just nods, and Atsumu kind of laughs at that as he guides you to an empty corner of the water.

“Inomata!” Bokuto’s shout has you all looking over to where his neighbour has ripped part of his swim trunks on the pool ladder. “Daijoubu, daijoubu!” Bokuto calls, and the way he says it has you thinking of butter on the ceiling.

Inomata, now utterly mortified, successfully unhooks the part of his swimsuit caught in the ladder. Really, the rip only goes from the bottom of his pocket to the hem, so it isn’t so bad. Bokuto’s next comment, however, is.

“Um… Wow _,_ Inomata! Just look at those thighs! Any woman would be _so_ lucky to have you!”

Inomata now looks like he’s about to have a stroke, and there are chuckles erupting from everywhere in the pool. Arobikusu looks thoroughly unimpressed.

Off to a great start, then.

* * *

“Okay ladies and gents, we’re starting this session off with a pace run. You’re gonna stand face-to-face with your partner and run in place in the water, but make sure your legs are fully submerged at all times. Oh, and let me make myself clear – you _better_ keep those knees up!”

The way Arobikusu is directing this class makes it feel more like a boot camp than a relaxing Valentine’s Day fitness activity, but maybe that’s only in comparison to her sister’s classes. The good vibes at _Hard Core Workouts_ are something you dearly, dearly miss right now.

As you pump your legs up and down in the water, you feel sweat start to accumulate on your forehead even though you’re barely jogging.

“Ugh, my thighs burn! How are you even doing that?” you ask Atsumu, who’s basically sprinting at this point. He just kind of smirks at you, and you feel the sudden urge to smack him.

“Pro athlete, kind of in the job description. Ya know what isn’t?”

“What?”

“ _This.”_ Atsumu splashes you with water, and as you sputter, wiping stray droplets from your face, you decide that yeah, you really want to hit him.

“Oi, _Miya!_ See, this is why you're last on Kiyoomi's speed-dial!”

“Wow, low blow.”

“Take that!”

You splash him right back, using both hands for maximum effect. He’s got an unfair advantage because he’s taller though, and you find that out the hard way as he repeatedly soaks your hair, face, and shoulders with pool water. You can’t help but laugh as you try and fail to dodge his attacks, and it’s only when Arobikusu yells at you for disrupting the class that you stop.

From a few feet away, Sakusa looks at the two of you forlornly, but you’re too busy keeping up with Atsumu to notice. Hinata does, though. And he badly misinterprets it.

“Omi-san, take this!” He splashes the water so that it hits Sakusa straight in the face, instantly regretting it when Sakusa’s whole aura begins to darken.

“… _Shoyo.”_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t use that voice, I told you it gives me the willies!”

From a few _more_ feet away, Bokuto is again trying to sell Inomata like a piece of meat at an outdoor market. The volume of his yelling captures everyone’s attention, and you didn’t think it was possible for him to rattle off something cringier than he started with, but apparently you were wrong.

“Golly, Inomata-san! You’re running even faster than me, a _professional athlete_ ! You must have excellent lower body strength, and what a handsome face to boot! The ladies must _love_ you!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at Bokuto, and you seriously fear for Inomata’s health because he looks like he’s going to pass out at any moment. Arobikusu looks more than a little annoyed that her class has been interrupted (again), but Piratisu just laughs and tells her, “See, now _that’s_ what I call positive reinforcement. You should try it sometime, works wonders for my students.”

And yeah, you have to agree with that one.

* * *

“Alright lovebirds, stop your canoodling because we’re moving on to rock-and-rolls. You’re going to hold your buoys and face each other to start,” Arobikusu deadpans, assuming the position with her sister. “After that, you’re going to tuck your legs to your chest, kick forward so your feet touch your partner’s, tuck in, kick behind you, tuck in, and kick forward again. Then repeat. Two sets of ten reps, let’s move it, scrubs!”

Clearly, Piratisu’s suggestion for positive reinforcement has inspired no change in her crabby sister. You’re starting to think Inomata would be better off just spending the night alone, maybe do some baking. Those are your plans, after all.

You can barely keep a handle on the buoys as you tuck your legs into your chest awkwardly, almost somersaulting sideways before Atsumu reaches out a hand to steady you. By the time you figure out how to remain upright, you’re faced with a new problem.

“Ow! Slow down, Atsumu!” you yelp as his foot collides into your waist again. Every time he kicks forward, you’re still tucking your legs in, and if you can’t get this timing right, you’re pretty sure you’re going to have a boatload of bruises to show for it in the morning.

“Okay, sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says, planting his feet on the ground as you do the same. “Let’s try speaking the steps out loud.”

“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.”

“Ouch, 603.” The monotone of his voice is so similar to Sakusa’s that it makes you laugh. As he gets back into position, you follow. “So tuck… kick forward… tuck… kick back… Hey, that’s it!”

“Wow, I’m doing it!” You smile up at Atsumu, and his answering nod makes you grin even wider. 

When you peer over to your right, you see Sakusa staring and you wave enthusiastically. He doesn’t return the gesture, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Omi-san, now!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “Hello? Omi-san? Omi-san!”

You break eye contact with your neighbour as your gaze travels to a distressed Hinata, who has now given up on getting Sakusa’s attention and is currently swimming over to the deep end. Oh, no. Bokuto didn’t. He _didn’t._

This is one plan you were wholly against, and you were oh-so relieved that no one was willing to volunteer for it, but you should’ve known that Hinata would be down for anything. No one even notices as he executes a perfect breaststroke, winding up about ten feet away from the rest of the class. They _do_ look over when Bokuto starts screaming. Again.

“Goodness me! Hinata appears to be drowning!”

To be fair, Hinata is a much better actor than you expected. From the way he’s violently thrashing around in the water, you would never believe he was swimming with perfect form just seconds earlier if you hadn’t seen it with your own two eyes.

“Hey, I think Mayo Man’s makin’ his move,” Atsumu whispers from behind you, and you quickly glance over to where Inomata is climbing out of the pool to retrieve a lifesaver from the deck. Before he can do anything though, Piratisu has hopped out of the water, grabbed a nearby rescue board, and is already jumping into the deep end as Bokuto tears his hair out in frustration.

Hinata just has to play along at that point, pretending to choke on water as Piratisu guides him back to the shallow end. Everyone is clapping and cheering for her already, save for Atsumu, Sakusa, and Bokuto, and you hate to gloat, but you knew this plan was doomed from the start. So you cheer for her with the others.

“Go, Piratisu!”

And poor Inomata is still standing on the deck, lifesaver in hand, but no one takes much notice of him. In fact, he's looking at your Pilates instructor with so much wonder in his eyes that you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind being thwarted again.

* * *

Even after insisting that he was perfectly fine, Hinata’s medical screening takes longer than he hoped it would, so Arobikusu is already on the last exercise by the time he joins you again.

“Okay, pretty simple here, folks. You and your partner are going to hold either end of a kickboard so that you’re facing each other, and you’re both going to flutter kick until one of you is knocked out of place or gives up. Probably the latter, considering you’re all a bunch of–”

“ _Oh_ -kay! Let’s get started, shall we?” Piratisu interrupts, clapping her hands together and smiling just a little too wide as the corner of her eye twitches. And man, you thought Sakusa was the crabbiest person you knew, but Arobikusu is really giving him a run for his money. You glance over to the bench he’s been sitting on since Hinata left, and you laugh as your little sunshine child drags him back to the pool by the arm.

“Ready, partner?” Atsumu says, bringing your attention back. He holds the kickboard out to you and you smile, grabbing onto it.

“Of course,” you say as you take your feet off the bottom of the pool to float on your stomach. You’ve only been kicking for about a minute when Atsumu starts to slip backwards, and for a minute, you’re absolutely thrilled – then realization dawns on you and you scoff.

“Hey, are you letting me win?”

“Course not, 603.”

“Sure about that?”

“Ya really need to trust me more.”

The mischievous glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know, but it’s too late in the class to get mad, so you decide to play along. When you finally propel Atsumu into the pool wall, you let go of the board and start cheering for yourself while he claps.

“Omi-san! Stop letting me win! Are you even trying?”

“Huh?” Hinata is growling at Sakusa from a couple feet away, but before your neighbour can formulate an appropriate response, Bokuto hoots like an owl and you nod to Atsumu.

“Looks like you’re up, Tsum-tsum.”

“Hey, only Bokuto can call me that,” Atsumu replies before looking over at Inomata and groaning. “Mayo Man’s lucky Bokuto likes him so much, else I’d never agree to this.”

You cover your mouth with your hands – both to feign shock and cover your cackling – as Atsumu brings his knee to his chest and clutches his calf, face twisted in a pained expression.

“Ow! I’ve got a cramp in my leg, someone help me!” You steal a quick glance at Inomata, who’s whispering something to Bokuto uncertainly. Bokuto just nudges him with his elbow and gestures over to you and Atsumu, and with a final sigh, Inomata begins wading over to you.

“I can help,” he calls, and just when he’s within range, Arobikusu _herself_ pushes him out of the way. You’re not even sure when or how she got here, but what’s certain is that Inomata could not look more dejected than he does right now.

“Inomata-san, you’re overstepping! This is _my_ class, I’m sure I can take it from here,” she says, and now she’s shoving you out of the way too so she can sidle up to Atsumu. This whole situation gives you flashbacks to Pilates, but to be fair, that could be because your instructor is standing just a couple feet away.

“Hey, I thought it was really brave of you to take action like that,” she says to Inomata, offering him a shoulder pat and a sympathetic smile. “Don’t mind my sister – she’s just not in the best mood today. Single on Valentine’s Day, you know? I am too, but you don’t see _me_ complaining. I’ll probably bake some red velvet cupcakes for myself and call it a night.”

You weren’t sure before, but right now, Inomata’s eyes are definitely sparkling like Hinata’s.

* * *

The kickboard exercise is, in fact, not the last activity. You’re absolutely _delighted_ when Piratisu guides you all out of the pool for some post-workout stretches. As you come out of a sun salutation, Atsumu makes conversation beside you.

“I still can’t believe ya got Omi to come.”

“Oh no, you got it wrong. He came here all on his own.”

 _“Right,”_ he drawls sarcastically, and you peer over to frown at him.

“I’m serious!”

“Sure… but he was surprisingly chill about letting us partner up.” The way Atsumu says it has you thinking back to the texts he sent you when you invited him here. _Is that okay with Omi?_ The furrow in your brow deepens, and you cock your head at him curiously.

“…Why would he mind, exactly?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I wouldn’t let _my_ girlfriend pair off with another guy for a couples’ class.”

“Your girlfri–” It takes a moment to click, but when it does, you do a double-, triple-, and then quadruple-take. “Woah, woah, woah, when did I ever say Kiyoomi was my boyfriend?”

“Ya mean you guys aren’t dating?”

“ _INCOMING!”_ Before you can respond, Bokuto comes flying in on the rope swing like a Japanese Tarzan – there was a _unanimous_ vote against this, come on – and neither you nor Atsumu react quickly enough to run to safety. He does, however, have time to yank you into his chest and shield you with his arms as about ten gallons of water splash all around you.

(It’s not enough to keep you dry considering _how much water_ Bokuto displaces from the pool, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.)

When the pseudo-tsunami is over and you finally open your eyes, you peer up to see Atsumu’s face barely an inch from your own. You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck and see specks of gold in his brown eyes, and now your cheeks are becoming uncomfortably warm.

Before either of you can say anything, you scramble out of his hold and look around nervously, praying that no one saw. Luckily, most of the other patrons are too busy spitting out pool water and cursing at Bokuto to pay the two of you any mind.

…Except for Sakusa, whose jaw drops open as his eyes widen with confusion and shock. There’s something else there, too, something in the furrow of his brow and the flare of his nostrils that you can’t quite pinpoint. You bite your bottom lip so hard it almost bleeds, because dammit, he was the last person you wanted to see.

The thought appears before you can stop it, and you don’t even have time to wonder where it came from because Arobikusu is now calling for security to vacate Bokuto from the premises.

“Get him _out_ of my studio! Good riddance!” You know Bokuto could probably take down both of these scrawny guards if he really wanted to, but he just lets them drag him away like a ragdoll, already sulking. You almost feel bad for the guy. He was just trying to help a friend, after all, misguided and idiotic as his attempts were.

Arobikusu suddenly rounds on Inomata, who is now utterly drenched after trying (and failing) to protect her from the splash zone. She jabs a finger into his chest accusingly as she continues her rant. “And _you,_ Inomata, I have had it up to _here_ with you! I know you’re completely enamoured with me – and really, who could blame you? – but this is _too far!”_

As she watches Inomata cower in fear, Arobikusu rubs her chin thoughtfully and sighs. “You know what? I’ll go on one date with you tonight, _one,_ if you promise never to show up to one of my classes again.”

And with that, Inomata’s entire demeanour shifts. But he’s not excited, or relieved, or any of the other things you were expecting. He just looks… disgusted. Which gives way to realization, which gives way to calm, which gives way to self-assurance. You’re pretty sure the man just had an epiphany before your very eyes, and from the set of his jaw, he is damn well going to do something about it.

“Actually Arobikusu, I don’t need your pity. I have no intention of coming back anyways. It’s too bad, but I guess we’re not as compatible as I thought,” he says, and for the first time since the class started, he’s stopped shaking like a leaf in the wind. As he squares his shoulders, he starts walking towards… Piratisu?

“Hi Piratisu-san, I’m Inomata, but I guess you probably knew that already. I’ve got a new recipe for red velvet cupcakes I’ve been working on for a long time. It uses browned butter and mayonnaise, if you want to come over tonight and do some baking.”

Piratisu’s eyes widen, and then her whole face lights up, but before she can respond, her sister interrupts.

“Piratisu, no! You can’t have a date on Valentine’s Day if _I_ don’t have one, that’s… that’s… _that’s not fair!”_ Arobikusu is nearly shrieking at this point, and if she hadn’t been such an insufferable harpy for the last hour and a half, you might’ve felt some pity for her.

…And would you look at that? Piratisu seems pretty done with her sister as well. Looking Arobikusu straight in the eye, she says, “You know what, Inomata-san? I’ll be there,” and it’s enough for you and Hinata to start cheering, social convention be damned.

Even Bokuto, who’s still getting dragged away, fist-bumps the air triumphantly and yells, “Hey, hey, hey! Go Inomata!” Inomata turns to you all with a grateful smile on his face and two thumbs up, and the rest of the class starts clapping as well.

“Guess all’s well that ends well, wouldn’t ya say?” Atsumu says as you start heading towards the changerooms.

“Honestly, after all we– Hey, where’s Kiyoomi?” You stop in the middle of the crowd to look around, mumbling apologies to the annoyed patrons who curse and shove past you.

“Oh, he’s in the changeroom already. He went after Bokuto-san jumped into the pool,” Hinata replies, gently nudging you to follow the crowd. You do, but the expression on Sakusa’s face from earlier is still frozen in your mind, and it makes your chest feel heavy.

“So ya really aren’t dating him?” Atsumu asks, and that jolts you back to reality.

“No, I’m not! We are _not_ dating, for the last time!”

“Eh? But Tsumu-san said you guys spent Christmas together,” Hinata chimes in, and Inomata may be fine, but now you think _you’re_ on the verge of a stroke.

“I– That was– Atsumu!”

“Well, it was _true!”_

* * *

Sakusa doesn’t say a word on the drive home. And it’s not because he’s mad, really, he’s just… tired. Being around so many people has always exhausted him, and the little germaphobic voice in his head is still cursing him out for going to a _public pool,_ something he swore he would never do. In fact, he’s still not sure why he came today, not when every rational part of him screamed, _No, stay home,_ but you’ve led him to make a lot of questionable choices over the past eight months, so he can’t say he’s surprised.

What _does_ surprise him, though, is how close you’ve grown to Atsumu, and in such a short time at that. Truthfully, there’s another emotion lurking there as well, something a little darker that isn’t making itself fully known. Sakusa would prefer to keep it that way, at least for now. It’s just easier.

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa can see that you’re getting a little fidgety, as if you want to say something but keep deciding against it. Normally he would entertain you, but he’s so exhausted right now that he can’t find the words. Luckily, you settle for turning the radio on.

You keep flicking through the channels, and Sakusa’s starting to get a little annoyed now, but before he can say anything, you find that one indie station he likes and let the music play. He turns to you with a raised eyebrow, but you just look wordlessly ahead for the remainder of the drive. Eventually, he pulls into the parking garage of your apartment and you both exit the car. It isn’t until you get on the elevator that you finally break the silence.

“When we reach our floor, just wait outside my apartment, okay? I’ve got something for you.”

Sakusa is thoroughly perplexed, but he tries not to let it show. When the elevator dings and opens on the sixth floor, he accompanies you to your apartment, and after you disappear inside, he hears a whole lot of shuffling behind your door. After a few minutes, you emerge with a small box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper, tied with an ivory satin ribbon.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kiyoomi.”

...He wasn’t expecting this.

Sakusa just stares at the gift in your hands. He stares so long, in fact, that you lose your patience, take one of his hands in yours, and place the box in his open palm. He doesn’t flinch when you touch him anymore, and he’s not sure when or how it happened, just that that’s the way things are now.

This isn’t the first time Sakusa’s received Valentine’s Day chocolate. He gets a few presents from the fans in the Jackals’ PO Box every year, and although he was an even bigger jerk in high school than he is now, there were still a couple girls who liked him.

This _is,_ however, the first time Sakusa’s received chocolate from someone he actually cares about, and it’s a good feeling.

“I made them yesterday,” you say, and the sound of your voice has Sakusa finally tearing his eyes away from the box to look at you.

“I threw some honeyed umeboshi in there too, hope you like it. Oh, but don’t get me wrong!” You hold your hands up defensively, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Sakusa wonders why you’re so… panicky. “This isn’t honmei chocolate, okay? I made it because I had time, and I’ve been trying to cook more anyway, and you made me all that food last year, so… here you go. Think of it as a thank-you, for being my friend. Happy Valentine’s Day, Kiyoomi.”

“…Thanks, (Y/N).” You smile shyly.

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, but don’t tell the others! I didn’t make them any.” You bite your lip guiltily, and maybe it’s wrong, but Sakusa is so relieved, so _happy,_ that all the tension in his body drains out of him in an instant.

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” you say, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you grin wide. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I _really_ need to take a shower.”

Sakusa’s eyes glue themselves to your retreating back as you disappear into your apartment, and suddenly, he’s alone in the hallway with his thoughts. He looks at the little box in his hands again, rubbing the smooth satin ribbon between his fingers as your words echo in his mind.

_Think of it as a thank-you, for being my friend._

And he considers that word, _friend:_ a person he trusts, whose company he enjoys, and who accepts all his fears, flaws, and idiosyncrasies without making him feel like he’s less because of them.

It’s a word that’s always meant a lot to Sakusa (after all, he’s only got six, even counting the guys), and it still means a lot now, but in this moment, it kind of feels like that plain onigiri – perfectly fine on its own, but with an umeboshi, it’d be even better.

...So what’s the umeboshi?

Sakusa ponders that for a moment, but then he remembers that every inch of his body is still covered in pool filth. You’ve got the right idea, he decides – he should take a shower, too.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slip of the tongue finds you in need of a date for your company's anniversary party. Who will it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you've all been well these past two weeks. I'm sending love to those of you in Texas right now, and as always, I hope everyone is staying safe, sane, and healthy during this very difficult time. Remember to be kind to yourself and others!! Really appreciate all of you. <3
> 
> This chapter is one of my personal favourites, especially the scene at the end. We've also got a bunch of OC's thrown in here (mostly (Y/N)'s coworkers), and full credit goes to Night_Writer3 for Bethany!! She's the embodiment of every mean girl stereotype we could think of LOL. Kamiko is also based on Night_Writer3, and some of the other characters are inspired by the Korean drama 'Misaeng' (highly recommend!).
> 
> I also finally figured out how to use page breaks!! Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. ;)

Compared to the world of professional sports, an office job isn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but you’ve loved working at  _ Matsumoto & Co., Ltd.  _ ever since you started out as an intern six years ago. Back then, you were more of a glorified maid than anything, but you were so grateful to be working at a big international trading company that it didn't even matter. It's taken some time, but now that you’ve climbed the ranks to assistant sales manager, you love it even more.

The late nights spent hammering out project proposals, the international calls that still have you stumbling over your Russian, and even the karaoke nights with your team after a successful sales quarter… You wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

But there’s one thing you could do without.

“Good morning, (Y/N)-san!”

“Morning, Bessho-san.”

“Ugh, (Y/N)! It’s  _ Bethany,  _ that’s what they called me when I was–”

“Studying in America, I know. Sorry, Bethany.”

You can’t say you’re too close with anyone at work outside your own team, but you’ve always tried to be civil. The guys in International Relations aren’t too bad, there’s a girl in IT who’s been trying to get you into gaming, and when Kimura’s not around to project his pompous seagull influence, there are even a few people in Natural Resources that you don’t mind hanging out with.

However, something about Textiles has always rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it’s the condescending smirks they give you and your nerdy Sales Team in the cafeteria, or the way they strut down the halls in the exclusive designs provided by their clients, or how they always make fun of your clothes – apparently it’s ‘common knowledge’ that polyester pants are a crime – but you’ve never felt comfortable around them. The final straw came three months ago when they dissed your new intern in the break-room. You found her crying in the bathroom two hours later, and needless to say, you were not a happy sempai.

Bessho “Bethany” Nishi, assistant manager and effective ringleader of Textiles, is a heartless, Gucci-wearing she-demon with the voice of a banshee and half the remorse. Probably less, actually, considering she spreads ninety percent of the break-room gossip and has sent three people (not including your intern) to the bathroom in tears. _This month._

In your mind, the two of you have always been enemies, but that’s not how Bethany sees it. Or maybe it is, and she just prefers keeping up friendly appearances through a veil of back-handed compliments. She’s good at it, sure, you just wish you didn’t have to hear it in the elevator first thing in the morning.

“So, the anniversary party’s coming up next week, isn’t it? How exciting! Are you bringing a date, (Y/N)-san?”

“Oh, well I–”

“Oh, that’s right! You’ve been single since that nasty breakup last year, haven’t you? You must be so lonely, how rude of me to broach such a  _ sensitive  _ topic.” There’s no way she means that, not if the barely concealed smirk on her face is any indication.

“I mean, I’m basically okay now, so you–”

“(Y/N), (Y/N)… Poor you.” She shakes her head, feigned or genuine pity – you’re not sure at this point – in her eyes as she looks at you down the length of her contoured nose. “You know, you could be so pretty if you’d just take my advice and get rid of those ugly polyester pants!”

You chew on your bottom lip to prevent all the nasty insults on the tip of your tongue from spilling out. As you glance at the floor numbers ticking off on the control panel, you can feel your eye start to twitch. Just a few more levels, just  _ four  _ more, and you’ll be out of here. Why is the elevator moving so slowly today?

A flip of bleached blond hair brings your attention back to the she-demon three feet away from you, and if HR couldn’t kick you out for it, you’d throw her body down the elevator shaft without a second thought.

“I could probably bribe one of the interns from Textiles to go as your date, you know. They absolutely  _ worship  _ the ground I walk on, and since there’s no way–”

“I have a date, actually.” The words are out before you can stop them, and it’s only when you take in Bethany’s wide-eyed stare and gaping jaw that they finally register.

“You…  _ You _ have a date?” she sputters, and any chance you might have had to play this off as a joke vanishes with a nod of your head. It’s like your body isn’t even yours anymore.

“Yup, I… I have a date. You can meet him at the party next week.”

The elevator dings and the doors open to reveal your already-bustling office. As you step out, you can feel Bethany’s eyes lingering on your back, but you try to shake her off.

It’s not a lie if you can actually find someone.

* * *

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“(Y/N), I’m fine. Besides, we’re already here.”

“Yeah, but there are still like, five people in front of us, and Cruella de Vil over there will probably take longer than the other four combined.” You honestly feel bad for the attendant working coat check tonight. Cruella has shed her floor-length furs and just plopped them into his arms, and he already looks like he’s swimming in them as he heads for the coatroom. He’s a little guy too, you doubt he can even see over the – oh no, now he’s bumped into a wall.

“All I’m saying is that if you want to go, you still can. I won’t blame you. And I’ll be okay on my own,” you say, and it’s true to some extent. You’re not thrilled at the prospect of being publicly humiliated by your arch-nemesis, but you don’t want a friend bending over backwards for you either. Especially not one who – and you know this for a fact –  _ hates crowds _ .

“And I already told you, I’m staying,” Sakusa says, and even though half his face is covered by a mask, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make you gulp.

You’ve always thought it was unfair that Sakusa could be so attractive in regular clothes, but seeing him all dressed up for the first time has had your mouth running dry since he showed up at your apartment. His suit is tailored to perfection, all sharp angles and tight seams that hug his broad shoulders and back. And maybe it’s just warm in here, but that dress shirt is doing such a great job of accentuating the planes of his chest that you’re starting to feel light-headed.

“(Y/N),” he calls, and you immediately snap back to attention. “I’m staying. You said this is an important night for you, and I don’t want someone to ruin it by embarrassing you in front of your coworkers. You worked hard this year. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

His words are simple and honest, not laced with kindness or dressed up in pretty lies, and they’re enough to silence you as you shuffle forward in line. The sound of your black heels clicking against the marble floor is a welcome distraction, and you stare down at them to bring your red cheeks out of view. The light of the chandelier reflects off the patent leather in a way that reminds you of the polished floors in Sakusa’s gym, and how they gleamed under the fluorescent lights that one time you picked him and Atsumu up from practice.

You move forward in line again, and this time you lift your head, the redness in your cheeks fading.

There’s a reason you thought of asking Atsumu here first, but when you brought up the issue to Sakusa on the car ride home that day, he immediately offered to help.  _ Insisted,  _ actually, and when you told him that no, he didn’t need to overextend himself when you could just ring up his teammate, he seemed even more adamant in his decision.

At this moment, you’re still skeptical about bringing him here, but part of you – the part that splurged on a new cocktail dress for the occasion, spent an extra hour on hair and makeup, and debated for twenty minutes whether you should wear the sapphire or emerald earrings (you picked sapphire, and you’re still not sure if you made the right call) – well, that part of you is just a  _ little  _ excited to be here with him.

By the time you reach the front of the line, the attendant has got an ice pack to nurse his bruised forehead, and he accepts your wool coat with a weak smile. When his eyes land on Sakusa, though, he frowns.

“My apologies, sir, but I’m afraid you’ll have to remove your mask before heading inside. We’ll keep it safe for you here, but no guests are allowed to wear facial coverings unless it’s for religious reasons. Part of the security policy.”

You deflate a little bit at that, but there’s not much you can do. Sakusa will just have to cut his losses and head home, and if that means getting called out by Bethany in front of the whole company, then so be it. You shouldn’t have been lying in the first place, and it wouldn’t be fair for him to –

“O-Of course… No problem.”

...What?

You gawk at Sakusa as he unhooks his mask from behind his ears before folding it carefully and sliding it into his coat pocket. He hands it off to the attendant with a nod, but you can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s less than thrilled.

“You… You don’t have to do that! Seriously Kiyoomi, if you’re not comfortable, just tell me and I’ll let you go,” you insist, tugging at the sleeve of his suit jacket. Sakusa looks down at where you’re touching him, and you instinctively make to let go, but he grabs your hand and holds it there before you can move away.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” he says, and when you try again to convince him otherwise, he just shakes his head and graces you with a small, rare smile. It’s even more effective than usual since you can see his whole face, and dammit, you don’t know when  _ Sakusa  _ of all people became so hard to refuse, but you can already feel your resolve begin to waver.

“Hey, let’s go inside, okay? We’re holding up the line,” he says softly, gesturing behind you. You turn around and yeah, he’s right. You’re about a minute away from losing your rapport with International Relations, and they’re the only ones who hate Bethany as much as you do, because in her mind, four years in America qualifies her to tell them how to do their jobs. It’s not a connection you want to lose, so you follow Sakusa into the ballroom reluctantly as the attendant assists your coworkers.

When you step through the double doors, it’s as if you’ve been transported into a different world, like you’re Nakamura Ayako and this is the exclusive after-party they hold after the Japan Record Awards. The lighting is dim, paper lanterns illuminating the crystal wine glasses and flourishing centrepieces on the dinner tables with a rosy glow. A little farther down, the dance floor is edged with lavish arrangements of dahlias, roses, and hydrangeas cascading over wooden trellises, and the sight of them alone makes you feel like you’ve entered a fairy tale. Onstage, there’s a live band playing smooth jazz music, and you find yourself tapping your toe to the beat before you can help yourself.

It’s only after you’ve taken in the full scene and picked your jaw up off the ground that you notice something: there are a  _ lot  _ of people here. Like, more than usual, and you consider yourself a pretty good judge of that seeing as you’re a three-year  _ Matsumoto & Co.  _ anniversary party veteran. There’s usually a good four hundred of you, including all the office workers in your building, a couple of the executives from the Tokyo branch, and maybe a few extra place settings to accommodate the plus-ones.

But there must be at least double that number in here, because no matter which direction you turn, there are bodies  _ everywhere.  _ And the ballroom’s pretty damn big, not that you were expecting anything less from the ANA International Hotel, Tokyo.

You immediately turn to Sakusa, whose eyes are glued to the crowd just as you expected. He’s biting his lip uncertainly now, but then he squares his shoulders, offers you his arm, and when he drops his gaze to meet yours, you can see that the look of steely resolve in his eyes hasn’t wavered. Gulping, you wrap a hand around his bicep and allow him to guide you to the tables. Dinner service is starting, and your Sales Team awaits.

* * *

“(L/N)-san, you made it!”

“Of course I did! We were nominated for Team of the Year, who else is gonna give the acceptance speech when we win?”

“Oi (Y/N), knock on wood! You can’t just  _ say  _ that!”

“Lay off, babe. More importantly, who’s that on your arm?”

You were kind of hoping you’d have the chance to sit down before your coworkers addressed the (unfairly attractive) elephant in the room, but clearly that was expecting too much. You scan the four faces peering up at Sakusa curiously, and when it’s clear that no one’s going to change the subject, you sigh.

“Guys, this is my friend, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, this is the rest of  _ Matsumoto & Co.’s  _ highly esteemed and  _ very  _ nerdy Tokyo Sales Team.” Your coworkers don’t seem to mind the descriptor (it’s true, they all know it) and greet Sakusa with waves and smiles, which he returns with a tentative nod. You take it as a sign to continue.

“This is Eiko,” you say, gesturing to the bright-eyed, fresh-out-of-college intern who greeted you. “The salty one is Soushi, my right-hand man, and that’s Hana beside him. They’re dating.”

Soushi nods curtly, the dark bags under his eyes evident of the all-nighter you pulled with him three days ago to close the New Zealand deal. In contrast, his girlfriend is out of her scrunchies and bargain-sale pantsuits for once, and she is absolutely _glowing_ under the light of the paper lanterns. And oh, now she’s looking between you and Sakusa and wiggling her eyebrows. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“What, no introduction?” You turn to face the honorary member of your Sales Team, who is currently drumming her fingers on the table as she looks to you expectantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Kiyoomi, this is Kamiko from IT, she’s…” You furrow your brows and scan the rest of the area, eyes landing on the table twelve feet away that’s hosting the rest of her team. “Wait, shouldn’t you be with the IT guys? Also, where’s Fuji?”

“It’s his son’s wedding today, so he couldn’t make it,” Hana supplies, and yeah, that would explain why gamer girl Kirisaki “ADWH” Kamiko is sitting in a spot reserved for one  _ Fujiyama Masato, Sales Head –  _ the embossed place card is still there and everything.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” you say, thinking of the countless hours and sleepless nights your boss put in this year to maintain your team’s number one spot in sales. “Maybe this works out better though. Kamiko can give me advice on what to say to Bethany when she comes over here to roast us with backhanded compliments.”

A murmur of approval ripples through your friend circle as Eiko says, “You two should sit down! The food’s coming soon.” It’s moments like these when you thank the universe (and Fuji) for assigning her to your team instead of Textiles. They would’ve torn her to shreds on the first day, and even if she somehow managed to survive, Bethany would’ve brainwashed her into another one of her cronies. The thought makes you shudder.

You and Sakusa take your seats next to each other, and luckily, the food comes out almost immediately. Carts loaded with small plates of seared scallops, mushroom crostini, and other appetizers too fancy for you to pronounce emerge from the kitchen doors, and Soushi waves down a few of the waiters that walk by. You’re just digging into a scallop when the interrogation begins.

“So Sakusa-san… how did you and (Y/N) meet?” Hana asks, and you don’t miss the knowing smirk Kamiko sends your way from across the table.

“Under a very unfortunate set of circumstances. The first time I saw her, she was drenched in rain and sneezed on me, and then I yelled at her for five minutes.” Sakusa doesn’t even look up as he replies, too busy lathering his hands in the sanitizer he stores in your purse. The awkward silence that follows, however, has him raising his head to assess your friends’ reactions. Their bewildered expressions make him shrink in on himself, just a little, and it’s becoming apparent to you why he doesn’t like meeting new people. Your heart pangs with sympathy, and you’re about to chime in when Eiko beats you to it.

“Um… What do you like to do for fun?”

“Clean,” Sakusa says without missing a beat, and even your precious kouhai is having difficulty keeping her face neutral. She raises an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and now her smile is starting to look a little strained.

“That’s… interesting! Uh… anything else?”

The awkward silence resumes, and you can tell from the way Sakusa’s avoiding eye contact and rubbing his neck that he’s starting to feel uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, even – you can tell that he’s floundering, completely out of his element, and part of you wonders why he came all the way here for _you_ of all people. The other, more rational part swoops in to save him.

“Kiyoomi cooks a lot. He listens to indie rock bands with funny names, he learned how to bleach his jeans and denim jackets in high school, and he used to build model ships when he was a kid. They’re in a display case at his apartment, but he never lets me touch them,” you say, reaching under the table to squeeze Sakusa’s hand. He turns his head to you, surprised, but you pretend not to notice as you wave down a waiter carrying a tray of salmon puffs. You don’t let go, and neither does he.

“Model ships? That’s pretty cool, why’d you stop?” Kamiko asks.

“I don’t have much time for it anymore because I travel a lot for work.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“I’m a professional volleyball player.”

There’s an audible gasp from across the table, and you look up from your salmon puff to see Soushi _ –  _ notorious hard-ass in and out of the boardroom – with a hand over his mouth, eyes lit up the way they were when  _ Wellington Holdings  _ finally signed the furniture deal last week.

“You’re kidding! Oh my gosh, you’re  _ that  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi?” Soushi leans over the table to study his face, and Sakusa’s grip on your hand tightens as he moves back defensively.

“I… think so? I play for the MSBY Black Jackals.” Soushi gasps  _ again,  _ even louder this time, and the sound makes Sakusa flinch.

“Do you know Ushijima Wakatoshi of the Schweiden Adlers? Please say you do!”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Oh my God, that’s  _ so  _ cool! I watch all of the Adlers’ games, even if I have to record them and wait till the weekend to binge them all at once. Ushijima’s the best spiker I’ve ever seen!”

Sakusa freezes for a second, and you’re half-expecting him to be offended, but that turns out not to be the case. It’s quite the opposite, actually, and you’re quick to realize that as Sakusa perks up in his seat and a genuine smile stretches across his face.

“I know! Whenever we play against the Adlers, Wakatoshi’s got such a strong presence on the court, and–”

“Wow, I’ve only seen him on TV! Is he even better in person?”

“Of course! His razor-sharp focus  _ cannot  _ be captured on recording, you should’ve seen him at the Asian Men’s Tournament last year when he–”

“Got five consecutive service aces against Korea, I  _ know!  _ I wish I had that kind of confidence, I really don’t know how he does it, and yet he’s–”

“So humble,” they say together, and as you look at them in awe, Kamiko just snorts and Hana wheezes, nearly choking on her crostini. Luckily, Eiko claps her on the back before pouring a glass of water and thrusting it towards her, which Hana accepts gratefully. Her boyfriend is too entranced by Sakusa’s rare photos of high school Ushijima to notice.

You start to tune out when you hear Soushi gush about how he’s collected all of the Adlers’ merchandise, and how even for a superfan like him, finding any candids of Shiratorizawa-era Ushijima  _ reading a manga  _ or  _ eating ramen  _ is like finding a pastel unicorn that poops rainbows.

Instead, you opt to talk to the girls as the entrees are wheeled out of the kitchen.

“What do you  _ mean  _ you died in the first battle? I didn’t think that was even possible,” Kamiko says, cutting into a lamb chop. You feel your cheeks burn as you bury your face into your hands and groan.

“Ugh, I  _ know!  _ I’ll never get to partner up with you for the IT gaming tournament at this rate.”

“Daijoubu, daijoubu,” she says, waving you off dismissively. “I’d still rather be with you than the losers in my department. They pronounce all the character names wrong.”

You all have a laugh at that, and you can’t help but notice that Hana’s really much prettier than you thought, especially now that half her hair isn’t slipping from a scrunchie to obscure one side of her face.

“Hana, you look great tonight! I wish my skin was as clear as yours,” you tell her, and she beams at you as she reaches for her cheek.

“It’s because I started using that grapefruit cleanser and mineral scrub you bought me for Secret Santa! I restocked on it a few weeks ago –  _ totally _ forgot how awesome it is.”

Sakusa overhears you, pausing in his conversation with Soushi to interject. And you’re almost certain you made this connection at some point, but it completely slipped your mind.

“Are you talking about  _ Grapefruit  _ by Kohaku? I use that too. It’s supposed to lift all the dirt from your pores,” he says, and the other three eye him curiously, but Hana just gasps in delight.

“ _ Yes!  _ It’s great, I love it  _ so  _ much. Every time I use the scrub after a long day, I feel so rejuvenated.”

“Yeah, I started using it because it was advertised as ‘deep-cleaning’, but I think it’s improved my complexion a lot. Oh, and (Y/N) says it smells nice.”

Kamiko goes back to smirking at you, but you try to ignore it as you let go of Sakusa’s hand to dig into your prime rib. The way Soushi and Hana are vying for his attention makes you laugh, and there’s a fuzzy feeling in your chest when you see his shoulders finally start to loosen up. You continue to chat with Kamiko and Eiko for a while, artfully dodging the former’s intrusive questions, and before you know it, they’re bringing out dessert.

“I can’t believe the guys from Textiles haven’t come over to harass us yet,” Soushi comments, breaking the sugary crust of his crème brûlée with a spoon. You roll your eyes as Sakusa hands you a plate of strawberry shortcake.

“What happened to ‘knock on wood’?”

Sure enough, in the distance, you can see Bethany making her way over to you in a blinding swatch of silver sequined fabric, the rest of her posse flanking her on either side like a scene out of a high school movie. When she finally reaches your table, you thank Fuji’s son for getting married today, because he has inadvertently given you a full arsenal of roasts in the form of one Kirisaki Kamiko.

“Bessho-san, that dress makes you look like a less attractive version of the disco ball at the karaoke lounge in Shinjuku,” she says before Bethany can even get a word in. That seems to throw her off a bit, but with a flip of her hair and a haughty laugh, she’s back to her normal, insufferable self.

“Appreciated, Kamiko-san, but I don’t know if I should take fashion advice from someone who willingly associates with the  _ Sales Team.  _ Between (Y/N)’s polyester pants and Hana’s scrunchies, it’s a wonder how they even have boyfriends. Oh wait, that’s right:  _ (Y/N) doesn’t.  _ Not anymore, at least.”

Your jaw drops at her scathing remarks while your coworkers all glance at you, worry painting their faces. Bethany’s always sugar-coated her words in a way that made you want to tear your hair out, but this is the first time she’s laid them bare and raw, and damn it all, they  _ sting. _

You’re about to let out a half-assed retort when Sakusa grabs your hand from under the table and squeezes.

...But then he takes it a step further by bringing your interlocked hands on top of the table for  _ everyone  _ to see.

“You must be Bessho-san,” he deadpans, and Bethany finally seems to notice him. She does a double-take, the same way you did when you first laid eyes on him tonight, and another one follows as she stares at your hands.

“Are… Are you (Y/N)’s date?” she asks, eyes wide in disbelief. Sakusa just looks down at where your hands are intertwined, then looks back up at her, his head cocked to the side as if saying,  _ What do you think?  _ Bethany doesn’t seem to clue in, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” Sakusa says. “I’m (Y/N)’s date.”

Bethany’s posse starts whispering among themselves, and you can see her confidence start to waver as her eyes flick back and forth between the two of you. She covers it up with another laugh, though, before addressing Sakusa again.

“You know, if you want to get out of here later, I can always give you my number. (Y/N)’s fine to hang out with for a couple hours, but she’s kind of dull once you’ve been around her long enough. And she’s got  _ so  _ much emotional baggage from the breakup, let me tell you.”

Sakusa already knows your history, you know he does, but something in you panics at her words, and you immediately turn your head to assess his reaction. His face remains impassive, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that tells you his patience is wearing thin.

“Bessho-san,” he starts, closing his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about you tonight, and I think the only reason you’re picking on (Y/N) is because you’re jealous of her.”

Your coworkers all murmur to each other and stare at him, and some of Bethany’s cronies even gasp, but Sakusa doesn’t pay them any mind as he brings his hand down from his face and looks Bethany dead in the eye.

“I think you’re jealous of her performance in the workplace, and you wish your relationships with your coworkers were as meaningful as hers.” He breaks eye contact with Bethany to address her colleagues. “I mean, do you guys even like Bessho, or are you just following her around out of fear?”

There’s a pitiful silence, and Bethany rears on her coworkers to tell them off, but the terrified looks on their faces are evidence enough. She turns back to look at you and your coworkers, her expression twisted in rage, and she starts her next sentence with an uncharacteristic stutter.

“I-I… You  _ asshole!  _ You don’t know anything about me  _ or _ my coworkers! Ugh, I should’ve known you’d bring some sort of  _ freak,  _ (Y/N)!” Before anyone can say anything else, she spins on her heel and storms off, the way you wanted to when you were dumped nine months ago. She’s ten times more graceful than you’ll ever be, but somehow, you don’t envy her, even when her posse continues to trail in her wake.

“That was awesome, Sakusa-san!” Kamiko says, and the rest of your team claps for him while Sakusa blushes. You haven’t taken your eyes off him for the past few minutes, so when he turns to you, you meet his gaze immediately.

“Freak was a little harsh, but asshole’s pretty accurate,” you say.

“I didn’t used to mind ‘asshole’, but now when I hear it from anyone but you, it kind of bothers me,” he replies, and you suck in a breath.

At this moment, you can’t tell if your heart is racing out of your chest or stuttering to a halt, but what you do know is that the light, tingly feeling in your hand is now spreading all throughout your body.

God, you can’t remember the last time someone gave you  _ butterflies. _

* * *

Social gatherings have always been among Sakusa’s least favourite things, especially ones that host more than a hundred people. The noise, the germs, and the sweaty bodies are enough to suffocate him even when he’s standing alone in the corner, but tonight, he’s thrown himself into the middle of everything he hates most, and he has no idea why.

…That’s a lie, actually. He does know why. And as he sees your face light up at the announcer’s words, he begins to think that it was worth it after all.

“And the Team of the Year is…  _ the Tokyo Sales Department!  _ Please come up to the stage to accept your award!” You and your team erupt into a flurry of cheers on the dance floor, and from where he stands beside you, Sakusa joins in with the rest of the audience’s applause, smiling.

“Oh my God, oh my God, it’s us! He called us!” Kamiko says, and no one questions why she’s referring to herself as part of the team when she’s been working in IT for three years.

“Let’s go!” Soushi says, ushering you forth with a hand on your back as Hana shoves past the crowd. Sakusa sends you off with a wave of his hand, mouthing the words  _ good luck  _ as you smile at him from over your shoulder, your grin threatening to split your face.

You disappear from sight, and the partygoers around Sakusa feel a little closer all of a sudden, but he dismisses it with a shake of his head. He can see you emerge into the blinding light of the stage now, trailing after Soushi and Hana as you nearly trip in your heels. Sakusa gasps, but luckily, Kamiko’s there to catch you. It does nothing to calm his racing heartbeat, though, and if anything, it just seems to be getting faster now.

He tries to distract himself by watching your coworkers clear a path for you to accept the award. If Sakusa remembers correctly, you’re second-in-command to your manager, so it makes sense that you’d represent your team in his absence. The applause resumes as you step up to the podium, crystal plaque in hand, and Sakusa tries to join in again, but it’s hard when his palms are so sweaty.

Why are they sweaty?

“Hi everyone, I’m (L/N) (Y/N), assistant manager of the Tokyo branch’s sales team. I just want to thank our manager, Fujiyama Masato, who unfortunately couldn’t be here today…”

The chatter of the audience drowns out the rest of your sentence, or maybe it’s the white noise filling Sakusa’s head right now, he isn’t sure. He tries to brush it off, to focus on you and your words, but both the buzz of the crowd and the ringing in his ears make it nearly impossible.

Sakusa tears his gaze away from you, but that turns out to be a bad decision. The bodies are starting to multiply now, dim and faceless, and it feels like they’re closing in on him from all angles when he just wants to  _ breathe,  _ but he can’t. His breaths are coming out in shallow pants now, and Sakusa knows the symptoms, knows what’s happening, but he can’t seem to calm down. The sweat has spread to the rest of his body at this point, dripping down his back and causing his dress shirt to stick to him, but somehow, he still feels cold. There’s a chilling sense of dread pooling in his stomach and crawling up his spine, and just when he thinks he’s about to drown in it, someone bumps into him hard, and it’s like he’s been plunged six feet under.

“This is such an honour, truly, and we’d like to extend our thanks to our friends and family as well…”

Sakusa’s shoving past people before he can even realize what he’s doing, their shouts and curses falling on deaf ears as he makes a beeline for the nearest exit. All he wants to do is get away, get away,  _ get away,  _ and it’s like his body isn’t even his anymore.

“And that’s the lesson I take away from all the struggles we–” You stop as soon as you see Sakusa bolting from the ballroom floor. Your eyes go wide and your heart nearly stops, but you can still hear your coworkers’ voices from behind you as they urge you to continue. For just a moment, you consider it, but you know your decision is already made.

“I’d now like to turn it over to my most trusted colleague, Ishikawa Soushi. Thank you again for this great honour.” After giving a deep bow, you slip your high heels off right there on stage, shove them into Kamiko’s arms, and race after Sakusa.

* * *

After a series of trips to the lobby, the coat room, and the hotel bathroom, you finally burst through the balcony doors to find Sakusa standing in the dim moonlight, still hyperventilating, sweaty, and trying to compose himself.

He turns around immediately at the sound of the door, and when he sees that it’s you, his body nearly collapses in relief. It lasts for less than a second as some kind of realization hits him, and suddenly he’s shaking all over again as he grips the balcony railing.

“Y-Your speech… did you… did you finish?” he asks through choked breaths.

“Kiyoomi, that is  _ not  _ what’s important right now, what’s important is–”

“ _ Did you finish?!” _

You’ve never heard Sakusa yell before, at least not like this. Not like every nerve in his body is screaming in pain, not like he’s so desperate for an answer he’d die after hearing it, and certainly not like he could shatter into a million pieces at any given moment.

You sigh, the tears threatening to spill out of his frenzied eyes making your heart clench.

“…No, but–”

“What?” Sakusa whispers, voice paper-thin. It sounds so fragile now, so weak and vulnerable that you curse every fibre of your being for telling him the truth.

“I-I’m sorry…” he stutters, and his voice seems to crack with every word that follows. “It’s my fault, i-if I hadn’t… If you brought Atsumu, this wouldn’t have… this wouldn’t have happened, but I… I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry…”

His entire body is shaking at this point, the tears are flowing freely now, and your speech is honestly the last thing on your mind, but the fact that in this moment, in the after-shocks of a  _ panic attack  _ he’s still worrying about you is just–

You’ve got your arms wrapped around Sakusa before you can think to do anything else, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head and rest his face in the crook of your neck. A moment passes, and he’s not hyperventilating anymore, but now it seems like he’s stopped breathing entirely.

You pat his back slowly.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Sakusa’s never been one to rely on others, especially not for physical comfort, but tonight, he’s been pushed so far beyond every limit of his comfort zone that he just can’t help it. He buries his face further into your neck as his body collapses against yours, and he just lets you hold him, lets himself be held by you. You breathe with him, long, steady breaths that alleviate most of the sobs in his chest. A few minutes pass, and you finally speak.

“That’s it, good job. Stay in this moment. There’s nothing here that can hurt you, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

You can feel Sakusa’s chin brush against you as he nods, and you continue to pat his back comfortingly as he brings his arms around your waist to cling to you.

“I’m really proud of you, you know that? Thank you for everything you did tonight. I know it was hard for you, and I appreciate it… but I don’t ever want you to push yourself past your breaking point. Your wellbeing is more important to me.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t really have to. You take a deep breath before your next words.

“And I just want you to know… I’m so, so grateful that you’re in my life.”

A minute passes, and then Sakusa nods against your neck again, slowly. It’s the only response you receive from him, but at this moment, it’s enough.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa's birthday brings with it a trip to the planetarium, a surprise party, a burnt cake, and a blast from the past.
> 
> ...So hey, what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! Hope you've all been staying safe, healthy and happy these past two weeks. ^_^ Things have been a little rough over here, but I've got a great support network made up of my family, my friends, and all you guys in the comments. <3 You're the best!! Thanks for the great response last chapter, hopefully this one can live up to the hype!!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for sticking with (or discovering, for all the new readers) this story up till now. It means so much to me that people are reading and enjoying my work, and I really hope you all know (yes you, the person reading! ;) ) that you mean the world to me!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!! It's the longest one to date, so buckle up for a wild ride. ^_^

You're not ashamed to admit it. When you first found out Sakusa was a volleyball player, you Googled him as soon as you got home.

...To confirm, obviously. Not to ogle his action shots, or his promo posters, or that one photo-shoot he did for Tokyo Vogue a few years ago. You're not sure who in their right mind suggested a mafia theme for a professional athlete (or how that idea got green-lit in the first place) but honestly? You're not complaining.

(Especially not when it produced a devil-may-care Sakusa leaning against a burning building in a trench coat, arrogant and indifferent and _gorgeous_.)

Anyway.

During your Google search, you also came across a critical piece of information: Sakusa's birthday is on March 20th. And a week ago, on March 13th, you suggested to the guys that it would be a good idea to throw a surprise party for him. Bokuto immediately made a group chat, which gave you all traumatic flashbacks to Valentine's Day, but things seem to be going a little smoother this time around. Probably because Ushijima _–_ the man, the myth, the legend – and Komori are here to round out the score.

_Beep-beep!_

Speak of the devil.

**_Omi omi's very elite and super cool party-planning committee:_ **

**Bokuto, 9:13AM:** _it's D-day guys!!! Inomata, ure coming over at like 4-ish, right?_

 **Mayo Man, 9:13AM:** _Yes, I tried out the tres leches recipe with Piratisu last night and we tweaked a few things. We should be good to go._

 **Bokuto, 9:14AM:** _ooh, Piratisu huh? sounds like u had a good time, Cinnamon ;)_

Of course, the code names are a bit much, but you've dealt with worse from Bokuto before. You're not quite sure where he got the spice theme, but as it stands, Inomata is _Cinnamon,_ Bokuto is _Salt N' Pepper,_ Hinata is _Turmeric,_ Ushijima is _Nutmeg,_ Komori is _Oregano,_ Atsumu is _Cayenne,_ and you are _Basil._

(And the only reason you remember is because you wrote them all down, at Bokuto's insistence. According to him, this is 'a very covert and serious operation,' and while you have to agree, this is all starting to seem like overkill now.)

 **Komori, 9:15AM:** _Hey, Ushijima and I will be there at like 3. Hinata, the show starts at 2:45 right?_

 **Bokuto, 9:15AM:** _oi, Oregano!! it's NUTMEG and TURMERIC_

 **☼Sunshine Child Hinata☼, 9:16AM:** _yes i think the show runs for 2h, Omi-san and I should get back before 5:30. that's enough time right?_

 **Komori, 9:17AM:** _Yeah, sounds good. I've got a spare key to the apartment, just make sure he's gone by the time we get there. Ushijima bought all these balloons u guys! :)_

 **You, 9:19AM:** _Aww, that's so cute! Tsumu, we're on for 3:30 right?_

 **Tsumu☺, 9:20AM:** _yeah, I'll pick u up. AEON right?_

 **You, 9:20AM:** _Yeah, I asked Kiyoomi for his membership card this morning. Ok but… r u sure you're qualified to be on the supermarket team? I thought all the cooking genes went to Osamu_

 **Tsumu☺, 9:21AM:** _WE'RE MAKING OKONOMIYAKI. IM FROM OSAKA IF U FORGOT ALREADY U FAKE FRIEND_

 **You, 9:22AM:** _…ok ok, don't get all huffy Tsumu_

 **Bokuto, 9:23AM:** _…I see we're all just ignoring the code names now T_T_

The emoji makes you sigh. You can imagine the same expression on Bokuto's face right now, and the mental image alone is enough to weaken your resolve. His tireless enthusiasm can be a bit much sometimes, but you'll take a hyper owl over a moody, depressed one any day.

 **You, 9:24AM:** _Don't pout salt n pepper. Ur beautiful hair will deflate!!_

 **Bokuto, 9:24AM:** _!!!_

 **Bokuto, 9:25AM:** _YOU'RE RIGHT BASIL!! I BELIEVE IN U GUYS!! TEAM BREAK! GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!!!_

…And he's back.

You smile, placing your phone on the coffee table as you roll off the couch and head to the kitchen for breakfast. Sakusa deserves a great birthday more than anyone, and after everything he did for you at the anniversary party, you owe it to him to make that happen.

_Broad frame, tight seams, clean, sharp lines. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs at the table, face illuminated by the dim light of the paper lanterns. Bethany's retreating back, the blinding lights of the stage, seeing him bolt from the dance floor, seeing him cry on the balcony… Hot tears on your neck. Warm breath tickling your skin, coming out in desperate, shaking sobs as arms circle your waist and–_

_Beep-beep!_

You shake your head. Walking back to the coffee table, you pick up your phone, opening the chat. Apparently, you've got bigger problems to worry about.

 **Atsumu, 9:42AM:** _hey, just saying that yamaimo trumps nagaimo any day. and that's coming from an Osaka native_

…Specifically what kind of mountain yam works best for okonomiyaki. But hey, Google's sure to have an answer.

* * *

Sakusa was equal parts touched and surprised when Hinata suggested a trip to the planetarium for his birthday. He's not a big fan of astronomy – the volleyball world's already got an alien nerd in the form of one Oikawa Tooru – but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Plus, the way Hinata’s face lights up at every constellation is almost cute. And that means a lot coming from him.

"Omi-san, look! That one looks like a bunny with a pickaxe!"

…What's decidedly less cute is the fact that Hinata's whisper-yelling is audible to everyone within two rows of them. About ten people turn to glare, and Sakusa murmurs apologies as Hinata starts bouncing up and down in his seat, completely oblivious.

"Shoyo, please keep it down. And that's Orion, the archer."

"Oh. (L/N)-san sent me this rabbit GIF the other day, so I got bunnies on the brain."

Sakusa can't help but grimace at the mention of your name. He was equal parts _disappointed_ and surprised when you came over to his apartment this morning, not to wish him a happy birthday but to ask for his _AEON Supermarket rewards card._

(Which the two of you have been sharing for the past three months now, so it's not like he could turn you down. Besides, collectively, you've almost earned enough points for the premium vacuum cleaner he's been eyeing on the home shopping network.)

Sakusa can't really blame you for not knowing his birthday – the topic never came up in conversation, and he's never been one to share personal information anyway.

…But it's still one quick Google search away, and while Sakusa can't be bitter _,_ he is sure-as-hell _sad._ Which he knows is pathetic, and quite frankly, rather unusual for him, but if he dwells on it too long, he'll be forced to face whatever strange emotion has been brewing in his chest since Christmas. And he'd rather not do that.

"Omi-san, the meteor shower is starting! Look at that, that's amazing, wow!"

Sakusa doesn't even have the heart to tell Hinata to be quiet, because when he breaks out of his stupor to glance up at the display above them, the glittering stars remind him so much of that night on the balcony when you held him for the first time, and all he can remember is the sound of your voice when–

"Omi? I said, _doesn't that one look like two dandelions?"_

"…Shoyo, that's Pisces. The fish."

"Oh."

Sakusa sighs in fond exasperation, ruffling Hinata's hair as he leans back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the show. There's a time and place for everything, and it's not like he's running out of time here. He'll deal with it when he's ready.

…But there's still a small, suppressed, and very desperate part of him that feels the need to see you right now.

Why does he want to see you?

* * *

It's easy to forget that you and Atsumu have only known each other for three months – four, if you start counting from Bokuto's baking show, but he was more of an obnoxious, flirty stranger back then than anything. Your weekly talks at _Onigiri Miya_ have helped close the distance for sure, and the fact that he's a natural charmer doesn't hurt either.

…And on that note, you thought Sakusa was bad, but the fact that Atsumu can still look supermodel-gorgeous under the harsh fluorescent lights of the grocery store both amazes and frustrates you. At this point, you're starting to question whether these guys are even _human_.

_Click!_

"Oh my God, that's like the sixth shutter that's gone off in the past twenty minutes. Doesn't it bother you that people keep taking your picture? Isn't it a crime to do that without consent?"

"Hm? How do ya know it's me they're after? Maybe they're really into yer lint-ball hoodie and sunny disposition."

"Don't sass me."

"I would never." Atsumu raises his hands in mock surrender, and it's enough to make you laugh as you push the shopping cart around the corner and into the produce aisle. You stop when you reach a section marked _Root Vegetables,_ and as fate would have it, the eternal rivals lay right next to each other.

You're not sure what the big deal is. The yams look nearly identical – they're both long, spotted beige logs covered in a thin layer of fuzzy roots, but as soon as you reach into the crate marked _Nagaimo,_ Atsumu gasps and pulls your hand back.

 _"No!_ My God, 603, do ya not listen to a word I say? _Yamaimo,_ always use yamaimo!" Without letting go of you, Atsumu uses his other hand to sift through the logs in the adjacent crate, picking them up one by one before discarding them based on God knows what _._ When he's finally found a yam to his standards – the thought itself is ridiculous, and you can't wait to tell Sakusa all about it once this is over – he looks at it with a self-satisfied smirk, and you snort.

While Atsumu's distracted, you slide your hand out of his grip to retrieve your grocery list from your purse. There's a bunch of uncertain scribbles, question marks, and notes in the margins, which makes you frown. Who would've thought there'd be so many variations of okonomiyaki on the internet?

"Okay, so these travel bloggers online say that the best fillings are shrimp and scallops, but _foodphattie19_ recommended octopus, so what do you–"

"Calamari. That's the way my mom makes it."

The corners of your mouth quirk up.

"…Mamma Miya?"

"…You gotta be kidding me."

"Hey, that was pretty good!"

Atsumu's deadpan expression looks so much like Sakusa's that it sends chills down your spine, but when he walks away with a roll of his eyes, you can't help but laugh. You chase after him with the shopping cart all the way to the frozen seafood section, and when he grabs a bag of calamari, you try your luck again.

In tune this time.

_"Mamma Miya!"_

Atsumu sighs. Then he mutters, so quietly you almost don't hear it, "…Here we go again."

_"My, my, how can I resist you?"_

"I dunno, 603, can ya really?" He leans over the shopping cart teasingly, bringing his face within an inch of your own just like that time at the pool. Again, from this close up, you can make out the golden specks in his honey-brown irises, and the way those long lashes frame his hooded eyes makes your heart start to pound, but you've really got to–

"Ugh, get away from me, Miya." The heat rising to your cheeks has suddenly become uncomfortable, and it doesn't fade even as you place both hands on Atsumu's chest and push him away. You grab the pack of squid out of his hands, dumping it in the shopping cart before rounding the corner into dry goods.

"Ouch. Ya wound me." His tone is light and teasing as he jogs after you, and the sight of his usual lazy smile quells the last of the butterflies in your stomach as you reach for a bag of bonito flakes.

You've never thought of yourself as a vengeful kind of person, but Atsumu always seems to bring out the worst in you.

"Tsumu, think fast!"

You flick your wrist, watching half in shock and half in amusement as the package hits him dead in the face. Honestly? You weren't expecting that to work. Shouldn't professional athletes have better reflexes?

 _"Ow!_ Ugh, that hurt..."

…But the way Atsumu is clutching his nose in pain tells you that might not be the case. Regret fills you as you rush over to him.

"Oh my God, Tsumu, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Grabbing him by the shoulders, you stick your face right into his personal space – this is different, you reason, this is an _emergency –_ as you frantically inspect him for any sign of damage. It's hard to tell when his hand is _still over his nose,_ but there's not much else you can do right now.

"No, I'm not okay! I think I'm bleeding…"

"Oh my God, oh my God… Hold on, I have some tissues in my purse, come here." Rummaging past the gum and tampons and receipts, you fish out a crumpled pack of Kleenex and tug out the first piece desperately, cursing under your breath when it tears. Ripped tissue in hand, you're still holding onto Atsumu's shoulder as you lean in, about to wipe the blood off of him yourself when–

"Kidding!" Atsumu drops his hand to reveal a damnably handsome, blood-free face, and when the initial shock subsides, you can feel red-hot _rage_ pulsing through your veins as you shove your Kleenex pack back into your purse.

"Aw, don't get mad, 603. I'm sorry."

Atsumu pats your head in apology, but it's not enough. You stick out your tongue and whack him on the shoulder for good measure before stalking away.

 _"Ow!_ That actually hurt! Come back, I'm sorry!"

He trails after you like a kicked puppy after that.

The rest of your shopping trip goes fairly smoothly – you're guessing guilt is one hell of a motivator – until you take a detour into the snack aisle. The black sesame Pocky catches your eye right away, and this time, when Atsumu comes up behind you to take a look, his proximity doesn't make you flinch.

"Whatcha got there, 603?"

"Black sesame Pocky. My mom likes this stuff."

"Mm, she's got good taste. We did a commercial for it last year."

You do a double-take as you turn to face him. " _You guys?"_

Honestly, with how comfortable Bokuto and Atsumu seemed on the camera back in November, you shouldn't be surprised. But things like commercial appearances always remind you that Sakusa and his friends exist somewhere in the stratosphere, far above plain civilian folk like yourself.

"Yeah, me and Bokuto and Omi. They wanted Shoyo too, but he's crazy allergic to sesame."

"Aw, poor Hinata." The image of a sad sunshine child watching his friends from the sidelines makes your heart sink, but the question remains. "So… what'd you do for it?"

Atsumu's eyes take on a wicked gleam, and you're not sure whether to be excited or scared. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Ya really wanna know?" Screw it, you do. You nod your head aggressively, and Atsumu's answering grin is nothing short of _devious_ as he digs out his phone.

A moment later, a familiar shock of salt-and-pepper hair fills the screen, and you watch intently as Bokuto approaches a decidedly unimpressed Sakusa, Pocky stick in hand.

_"Omi-omi, you want to play the Pocky game?"_

Oh. Oh no. You peer up at Atsumu in a mixture of disbelief and amusement, but he only laughs and gestures for you to keep watching.

_With all the enthusiasm of a man who's just lost his country, Sakusa sighs and asks Bokuto, "What's that?"_

_"Come here! Put one end in your mouth. Okay, now hold still."_

"Oh my God, poor Kiyoomi… Oh my God, he's silently screaming, oh goodness… They're not actually gonna…?" You touch the tips of your index fingers together, peering up to meet Atsumu's eyes. "Right?"

"Keep watching."

_Bokuto inches closer and closer to Sakusa, and just when their lips are about to touch…_

_…Atsumu enters the frame and blocks them from view, a haughty smirk plastered across his face._

_"Black sesame Pocky is the official snack of the Black Jackals. Wanna play?" Biting a Pocky stick, he holds the other end to the camera and winks seductively as the screen fades to black._

"That's so _bad,_ Tsumu, oh my God!" You dissolve into a fit of wheezes right then and there, and as you double over laughing like a maniac, you can feel honest-to-goodness tears in your eyes. The middle-aged ladies by the produce section are most _definitely_ staring at you, but you can't even find it in yourself to care.

"You shoulda been there, the outtakes are _gold."_ Atsumu chuckles to himself, looking over your shopping list once more as he scans the cart. You take the time to try and piece yourself together, but images of Sakusa and Pocky and _Bokuto of all people, goodness,_ keep flooding your brain. You enter another wheezing fit as Atsumu sighs fondly and ruffles your hair.

As you look for something to distract yourself, your eyes fall on the little animal-themed cupcakes in the bakery window. Their sugary smiles and chocolate-chip eyes seem to call to you, but you'd feel bad splurging on yourself for something so menial.

"Okay, we got yamaimo, cabbage, pork belly, bonito flakes, pickled red ginger, tempura scraps, calama– Oi, 603, ya listening?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, sorry about that. Did we get everything?"

Atsumu frowns slightly before following your gaze to the bakery.

"…Yeah, I think so. Pleasure workin' with ya, darling." You smile at him as you push the cart to check-out, and with one last glance at the bakery window, Atsumu trails after you.

* * *

Hinata loves birthdays, loves parties, and loves making people happy. And after being excluded from _Inomata's very amazing and super reliable matchmaking squad_ , he also loves being a part of elite, clandestine group chats.

"Omi-san, wasn't that fun?"

"Yeah, it was. Thanks for buying the tickets."

"No problem! I just mentioned I was a friend of Oikawa and they gave me a _big_ discount!"

Indeed, as he and Sakusa emerge into the fading afternoon sun from the dark of the planetarium, Hinata is feeling pretty damn good about himself. He's done his part in helping Sakusa have the best birthday ever, and when they get back to the apartment, there'll be Inomata's famous tres leches cake waiting for them, along with volleyball-themed decorations and hot okonomiyaki, and maybe some board games if–

_♪ Tobe fly high! Ase to chi to namida de ♫_

_♫ Hikaru tsubasa de ima zenbu zenbu oki satte ♪_

Hinata digs in his pants pocket for his phone, and when he sees the caller ID, he grins wide.

"Salt n'–"

" _Turmeric!_ Please, _keugh!_ Stall for as long as… _keugh!_ Possible!"

Oh, God. Hinata feels his soul leave his body as he strains to hear Bokuto's words between the coughs and pants, and – wait, is that the smoke alarm?

"Bok– _Salt n' Pepper,_ is everything okay? Did you burn the–"

" _Keugh!_ Don't mention the C-word… _keugh!_ In front of _Omi!"_

The tone drops, leaving Hinata marginally shocked, decidedly concerned, and _completely unprepared to deal with this._ Frantically, he looks around for something, anything, to give him a little inspiration, but he's got no clue what kind of half-assed lie he can tell Sakusa to keep him out of the apartment any longer. The balloon man across the street could work, or maybe the vendor selling crepes outside the building, but if Sakusa says he's tired (like he always does), it's not like Hinata can–

"Shoyo, you mind if I grab a couple of things before we head back? Sorry, I know you wanted to–"

" _Yes, oh my God!"_ Hinata’s so relieved he could kiss someone right now, but he tells himself to reign it in. He's come this far, and he'll be damned if he spoils the one secret operation he was a part of from beginning to end.

"I mean… Of course, Omi-san. It's your birthday, I'm happy to do whatever you want to do."

Hinata gives him a great big smile, the one his mom says makes his eyes sparkle. It does the trick, because whatever weird gloom has been hanging over Sakusa all day seems to lift, just a little, as he pats Hinata on the head fondly and makes his way to the parking lot.

* * *

"Huh."

"Yeah?"

"Just checked the group chat. Mayo Man says Bokuto burned the cake. Party's postponed to 6:30," Atsumu says with a frown. You stop scanning the items at the self-checkout as visions of burnt snickerdoodles, sweaty bodies, and the incessant ringing of that damn fire alarm fill your mind. You know it's all in your head, but your tailbone is starting to feel sore again just thinking about it.

 _"Dammit Bokuto_ … Is everything okay?" you ask, turning to Atsumu with genuine concern in your eyes.

"Yeah, Shoyo's stalling." He takes a moment to text Inomata back before pocketing his phone and placing both hands on your shoulders. The direct eye contact makes you blush, but the look on his face is reassuring. "Don't worry."

You've never met anyone as touchy as Atsumu, but at this moment, the physical comfort is a welcome distraction. "We got some time to kill though," he says. "I actually saw something I wanted to buy earlier, mind waitin' for me?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course."

Atsumu smiles at you – not the seductive, home-wrecker one he uses on camera, but the one that's a little lopsided and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You smile back, waving at him as he disappears around the corner.

You're scanning the last of your items when, out of the corner of your eye, you see someone approach the checkout next to you. You pay them no mind.

…That is until you hear your name.

"(Y/N)?"

Your head shoots up, and _oh._ Oh no.

_It's him._

"Long time no see, huh?" The sound of your ex-boyfriend's voice – dangerously smooth and laced with the low tones of superiority, of condescension _–_ has haunted you for the past nine months now, but only ever in dreams. This is real, a fact you're made painfully aware of when you clench your fists, the nails digging so far into your palms that they _hurt._

"…Leave me alone, asshole."

"What'd you say before? _I hope you never show up in my life ever again?_ Guess fate's not on your side, hm?" He laughs after he says it, low and mocking, and the sound makes you want to rip your ears off and stuff them into his mouth so that he'll just _stop talking._ What makes it worse is how he looks at you down the length of his nose, like you're a bug crawling on the street. He's always looked at you like that, you realize suddenly.

"Any luck getting that promotion, or are you still slaving away under Fujiyama?"

"…I'm still assistant manager, but I'll have you know that our team won–"

He clicks his tongue, cutting you off, and you want nothing more than to rip it out of his mouth. "See (Y/N), the issue here is that you don't know how to play the game. Soushi's got it right, 'kay? Sure, maybe you know what the client wants, but you also got to know how to win their _respect_ . The problem with you is that you let people walk all over you, _all the time_. And honestly? It's really off-putting to watch you grovel. I bet management can sense it too, and that's why they–"

"Hey." A firm hand claps your ex on the shoulder, and when you look up to see who it is, you feel sweet, sweet relief wash over you. "That's enough. Stop harassing her and get lost."

Your ex-boyfriend scoffs as he turns to face Atsumu, yanking the hand off his shoulder. Atsumu towers over him menacingly, and it's a refreshing change of pace to see your ex have to look _up_ at someone.

"I fail to see how this is any of your business," he says. "Speaking of _business,_ do you know anything about it? Because if not, I'd suggest you butt out of this conversation."

"I know a thing or two, by association mostly. And I can tell from one look that you're the kinda guy who got where he is because he kissed up to the right people, then left them in the dust when you didn't need 'em anymore."

"Ha! You just described half the corporate world."

"Mm, but you're special. Ya pick on people who you think are beneath you, even though they can't really do anything to hurt ya. And it's because you don't have the skill or charisma to actually _inspire_ anyone _,_ so the only way ya can feel some kinda control is by making people feel bad about themselves. You, my friend, are no Kuroo Tetsurou."

Your ex-boyfriend sputters. "How do _you_ know Kuroo Tetsurou?! No, you know what? Get lost, this doesn't concern you! She's no one, okay? _No one."_

At that, Atsumu's normally composed, smug expression slips right off his face. His nostrils start to flare and a deep frown forms between his eyebrows, and suddenly, you realize that in the few months you've known him, you've seen Atsumu drunk, depressed, flirty, happy, even annoyed out of his mind – but never truly mad _._

"Don't waste your time defending her, okay? I can tell you firsthand she isn't worth it," your ex continues. Atsumu's eyes flash and he bares his teeth now.

"And I mean that sincerely, hm? Run along, play hero for the next girl. Maybe someone prettier." Atsumu honest-to-God _growls,_ and the sound makes you flinch. Your ex chuckles at how quickly he's lost his composure.

"I mean, who even are you?"

_"I'm her boyfriend, asshole!"_

...What?

There's a pregnant pause, and you're grateful your ex's back is facing you right now, because your face is frozen in shock. A moment later, he seems to snap out of it and spins around to face you, and when he does, you will your expression into one of steely resolve.

"This guy's your _boyfriend?_ (Y/N), you seriously…? _No!_ There's no way you could've bagged a guy like this, he looks like–"

Your ex cuts himself off suddenly, looking back and forth between you and Atsumu as he comes to some sort of realization. And whatever it is must be pretty damning, because now he looks even more livid than before.

 _"You!"_ He hisses at Atsumu as he wags a finger in front of his face furiously. "You're that volleyball player who stole my girl at the game last summer!"

Atsumu looks thoroughly perplexed for a moment, then recognition sets in and that familiar smirk returns. "Aw, that was you? Ya know, she just looked so miserable that I figured she could use better company."

You can see your ex warring with himself as he decides whether to dignify Atsumu's comment with a response, but he eventually tears his gaze away from him and returns it to you.

"(Y/N), where'd you even meet this guy? He's way outta your league, just so you know. And no, that's not a compliment, _asshole,_ it's just a statement of fact." He glares at Atsumu from the corner of his eye before turning back to you. "You thought I was bad? You should've seen this guy, I was sitting right next to Yui and he just started hitting on her, like I wasn't even there! I mean, have some self-control, man!"

"…Okay, even _you_ have to realize the irony of that statement." Your voice seems to have finally returned, and with every word, you feel yourself growing stronger. "This is coming from the guy who openly cheated on me. I mean, do you _own_ a mirror?" Your ex just rolls his eyes.

"Look (Y/N), I know you're really naïve and clingy and deluded, so let me spell this out for you: a guy like _this_ has nothing to gain from a girl like _you_. The best thing you could do for yourself is just turn tail and run. I mean, I know your dignity's basically non-existent, but–"

"You are _really_ startin' to piss me off, man," Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his hair as he laughs, dry and humourless. "Ugh, tell me this isn't what I used to sound like. Listen, I know your type. Ya think you can toy with any girl you want and drop her when ya feel like it, but as soon as she calls you out for being an entitled, manipulative, selfish _prick,_ ya blame it on what? _Her?_ And for what, _caring?_ Wake up, man."

Atsumu has gotten closer and closer to your ex with every word, and now he's trapped between the checkout scanner and Atsumu's broad frame, trembling with… Is that fear or indignation? You can't tell at this point. And a small, sadistic part of you almost enjoys how helpless he looks right now.

 _"_ Cause guess what happens when ya don't have your damn little ego to hide behind anymore?" Atsumu asks with a sneer.

" _You're nothing."_

Suddenly, he backs away from your ex and crosses over to you, draping his arm over your shoulders as he pulls you close. You nearly squeak, but there's no going back now, you figure.

"And not that it's any of your business, but we are very happy together, thanks." Atsumu looks down at you, eyes twinkling, and not for the first time, you think to yourself that he must be the best actor on the whole team. "Ain't that right, babe?"

"…Yeah, we are."

"See, I even got ya that cupcake you were eyeing in the bakery. I’m a great boyfriend, aren’t I?"

You finally notice the white box in his hands, a smiling fox staring up at you cheekily with its chocolate chip eyes. Your heart melts a little, and you're about to say something when–

"You guys are dating?"

Oh. You know that voice.

You whip your head around to the store entrance, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. Sakusa's mask conceals all but his eyes, but even from ten feet away, you can tell they're wide with shock. A million questions run through your mind – _When did he get here? Where is Hinata? How much did he hear? Should we drop the ruse now? –_ but your ex interrupts your train of thought.

"Okay, who the hell is _this?_ What, did you somehow manage to infiltrate a whole squad of professional athletes?" His tone is grating and demands attention, but you can't seem to tear your eyes off Sakusa.

"...Are you guys really dating?" he asks again.

You and Atsumu both glance at each other, the concern in your eyes reflected in his own. He breaks away to look at your ex and you at Sakusa, and after an uncomfortable silence, Atsumu finally speaks.

"…Yeah," he says. "We're… dating. I'll explain later."

It's damning that you can only see half of Sakusa's face right now. It doesn't help that his voice is completely void of emotion, either, because that leaves you with _no idea how he's feeling._

"…There's no need," he says. "Congrats, guys. See you at home, (Y/N)."

The image of Sakusa's retreating back stays with you long after he's gone.

* * *

 **Tsumu-san, 6:13PM:** _oi shrimp! why the hell did u bring Omi to the grocery store?! u knew we were here?!_

 **Me, 6:13PM:** _I'm sorry!! but what were the chances it'd be the same one?? there's like 50 in Tokyo!_

 **(L/N)-san, 6:14PM:** _Don't blame Hinata, this is Kiyoomi's regular supermarket. He's got the rewards card and everything. UGHHHH IM GONNA GO DIE NOW GUYS RIP_

 **Bokuto-san, 6:14PM:** _WHAUT HAWRPPENED? WE JSUT FINSIOHED THR CAIKE AND U GUUYS R TEDLLIKNG ME SJMTH WRNT WRTONG???_

 **Ushiwaka, 6:14PM:** _*What happened? We just finished the cake and you guys are telling me something went wrong?_

 **Inomata-san, 6:15PM:** _Miya-san, you guys didn't blow our cover, did you?_

 **Tsumu-san, 6:15PM:** _no! but the situation rn is really awkward and I think Omi's in shock_

 **Omi-san's cousin, 6:16PM:** _We're done here, u guys just need to bring the groceries and we can set up the stuff for okonomiyaki. Shoyo, how's Omi?_

 **Me, 6:16PM:** _idk he isn't saying anything ☹_

Gulping nervously, Hinata breaks the heavy silence that's been hanging in the car since Sakusa's return. "Omi-san? You didn't buy anything?"

Sakusa's eyes never leave the road. "No. Everything I needed was already… _taken."_

 **Me, 6:18PM:** _he couldn't buy what he wanted cuz it was all sold out. he's really sad guys_

 **(L/N)-san, 6:18PM:** _He didn't say anything else?_

 **Me, 6:18PM:** _no_

 **Omi-san's cousin, 6:19PM:** _Ok u know what let's do this: (L/N), Atsumu, get home ASAP. Shoyo, just bring Omi here in one piece pls. Forget prepping okonomiyaki in advance. Let's just cheer him up before he retreats too far into himself and becomes a giant sad sack_

 **Bokuto-san, 6:19PM:** _SAD SSCK? INM THR SWD SACK! I CSNT HANFLR AMOTHER!! GRT HJM HRRE ASAP!!_

 **Ushiwaka, 6:20PM:** _*Sad sack? I'm the sad sack! I can't handle another! Get him here ASAP!_

 **(L/N)-san, 6:20PM:** _Ok, see u guys in a few_

 **Tsumu-san, 6:21PM:** … _sorry for getting mad shoyo_

 **Me, 6:21PM:** _it's ok. text me when u get there, i'll make sure to stall Omi-san until everyone's here to surprise him_

Hinata's always prided himself on being able to lift people's spirits, regardless of the situation. He points out a couple of good eateries to Sakusa – his go-to place for meat buns, crepes, dorayaki – and when that doesn't work, he talks about volleyball for a while, but Sakusa only responds in grunts and nods. It comes to the point where Hinata feels like he's just talking to himself, and normally that wouldn't be a problem, but then Sakusa says:

"Shoyo, can we just… not talk anymore? I'm tired."

And the defeat in his voice silences Hinata for the rest of the car-ride.

* * *

Sakusa's not ashamed to admit it. Yeah, he went to AEON supermarket on the off-chance he'd bump into you during your grocery run; he had no intention of buying anything _,_ if he's being honest. So sue him.

In hindsight, though, he kind of wishes he'd headed straight home after the planetarium. Because now that Hinata's finally stopped talking, there's nothing to distract Sakusa from the thousands of questions rattling around in his brain.

_When? How? Wasn't Atsumu still crying over his ex a couple months ago?_

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter as the memories resurface.

_"We are very happy together, thanks. Ain't that right, babe?"_

_"Yeah, we are."_

Sakusa shakes his head as he pulls into the underground parking lot. He knows he has no right to be bitter – you're his neighbour and his friend, nothing more. It's not like you're obligated to share every detail of your personal life with him, and he of all people can respect the need for privacy. Still, part of him wonders whether you were planning to tell him at all – if he hadn't run into you today, would he have ever known?

…Part of him believes he'd be happier if he didn't.

Why didn't you take Atsumu to the party then? Sakusa replays the conversation he had with you in the car that day, and _oh, that's right._ You did mention it, but he cut you off before you could even entertain the idea, assigning himself as your date instead.

Sakusa's cheeks burn at the memory.

Hinata doesn't say anything as they exit the car and enter the elevator, and if Sakusa wasn't so preoccupied with the events of the past half hour, he'd almost feel bad. He _does_ feel bad, actually, but at this moment, he can't find it in himself to break the silence.

The floors tick off as the elevator rises, and now Hinata's humming his ringtone under his breath to relieve some of the tension. It doesn't do too much for Sakusa's mood. All he can think of is how long this must've been going on, if it started from Valentine's Day or earlier, and then he wonders _how that's even possible._ Sakusa's thoughts flick back to Christmas Day, to Atsumu's barely suppressed tears and screams and the hurt just _radiating_ off him, and no matter which way he stretches it, there's no way this narrative makes any sense.

_"See, I even got ya that cupcake you were eyeing in the bakery. I’m a great boyfriend, aren’t I?"_

He grits his teeth together. The evidence is there – he's just fooling himself now, and Sakusa's always been a firm believer in the truth. Maybe Atsumu's on the rebound or something, and he's using you to get over his celebrity ex-girlfriend.

Sakusa's hands clench into fists at his sides. That's it, he decides. That's the reason he's so angry and confused and upset right now, he's just worried about you.

The elevator finally dings, and when it opens to your shared floor, Sakusa sends a silent prayer that you're not home yet. Or at least, not home with Atsumu.

"Shoyo, I know you wanted to have a sleepover tonight, but I'm just… really tired right now," he says, walking down the hall as Hinata jogs to keep up with him. "You can come in for a little while, but I'd like to spend the rest of the night alone."

"I think you'll change your mind soon, Omi-san." Hinata's answering grin is blinding, and Sakusa is seriously starting to wonder if there's a difference in his chemical composition or something _._ How is Hinata still so cheery?

"…I highly doubt that." Sakusa retrieves his keys from his pocket as they stop outside his apartment door, and when the lock clicks open, Hinata starts _bouncing_ with excitement. It's baffling, to say the least, but Sakusa's seen far stranger things today. He opens the door with no hesitation.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

And he's greeted with a face-full of confetti.

"Surprise! Happy birthday, Omi!"

Sakusa's normally bare, sleek, monochrome apartment is completely unrecognizable. There are streamers in every colour of the rainbow hanging from the ceiling, bouquets of volleyball-shaped balloons tethered to the ground, and a banner, spelled out in big, glittery silver letters, strung over the windows: _Happy Birthday Omi!_

Confetti colours the floor now, and as he takes in all of your faces – his teammates, his cousin, his idol, his neighbours – Sakusa notices that you're all wearing ridiculously flamboyant party hats. They're covered with fuzz and pom-poms, and Bokuto's even has a feather sticking out of it, which gives Sakusa the creeping suspicion that at some point, someone's gonna–

"There you go, Omi!" Komori snaps the elastic cord beneath Sakusa's chin before he can protest, and he can't even find it in himself to complain.

"You guys… Did you guys really–"

He’s cut off by your collectively out-of-tune singing.

_"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear–"_

_"Omi!"_

_"Omi-san!"_

_"Sakusa-san!"_

_"Kiyoomi!"_

…Alright, that could've gone more smoothly.

Sakusa laughs as you all pause to look at each other, but the way you slap Atsumu on the shoulder playfully makes the smile slide right off his face.

 _"Happy birthday to you!"_ You all finish the song together before pulling out noise-blowers from God knows where. Sakusa's apartment is suddenly filled with the sound of seven cheap kazoos, and he has to laugh again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if he would've been able to appreciate this a year ago. He's always hated having company over – it's his space, and he likes to keep it clean, quiet, and unchanging – but the handful of times you've visited, you've always managed to set something askew.

After a while, he just stopped caring.

"Omi-omi, blow out the candles!" Bokuto shouts. "Me and Inomata spent hours baking this!"

For the first time, Sakusa notices the white layer cake in Inomata's hands. It's topped with strawberries fanned out in the shape of a heart, and he can tell immediately that that must have been Bokuto's idea. There are seven candles lit in the center, and with one final look at the faces surrounding him – Hinata, Komori, Ushijima, Inomata, Bokuto, Atsumu, _you –_ he inhales deeply and blows them out in one breath.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

More confetti. Sakusa briefly wonders how much vacuuming he'll have to do when this is all over, but it doesn't take away from the moment.

"Happy birthday, Omi-san! Weren't you surprised? Didn't I do a good job keeping it a secret?" Hinata asks, and the sparkle in his eyes is brighter than Sakusa's ever seen it. He ruffles his hair affectionately.

"Mm-hm, you really did. I had no idea." Hinata's answering squeal makes the corners of Sakusa's lips quirk up.

"Happy birthday, Sakusa-san," Ushijima says stoically, extending his hand for Sakusa to shake. He does, and Ushijima gives him a small, rare smile. "I hope you enjoy the decorations. I picked them out myself."

"He really did." Komori drapes an arm over Sakusa's shoulders, and for once, Sakusa doesn't shake him off. "Took _forever_ to pump those balloons though. You should try making funny voices with the helium, Omi. That would make up for it."

"Omi-omi!" Sakusa's not sure when they had time to cut the cake, but he doesn't have the chance to question it because Bokuto's already shoving a slice into his face. "Try this!"

And okay, Sakusa is extremely touched by all this and eternally grateful to have such thoughtful, caring friends, but he draws the line at being _fed._ He takes the fork out of Bokuto's hand, removes his mask, and digs in.

"…This is great, wow. You really made this?"

"With Inomata's help! And recipe," Bokuto says. Sakusa turns to face the middle-aged man standing awkwardly in the corner and smiles at him.

"Inomata-san, this is excellent. Thank you."

"Kiyoomi?" Sakusa's eyes go wide as you and Atsumu approach, and he feels his stomach turn with unease. God, he's never felt this uncomfortable around _anyone._

"Happy birthday," you say softly, and he can't tell if the awkward smile on your face is guilty or just shy. The façade cracks in less than a second though, and he watches with a frown as you cringe, groan to yourself, and bury your face in your hands. "That was _so_ awkward earlier, oh my God, I'm sorry."

Guilty, then.

"Atsumu and I are _not_ dating, that was just a ruse he pulled to save me from my–"

"Rotten, good-for-nothing, egotistical–"

"–ex-boyfriend. Yeah."

…And Sakusa can finally breathe again. Phew.

Sakusa's never understood the cliché of having a weight lifted off your shoulders, but at this moment, it's the only way he can think to describe his feelings. Sweet relief, maybe a little satisfaction, and unbridled _hope –_ he's not sure where that last one came from – fill his chest, and suddenly, the party seems even better than it did before.

Sakusa looks around at all the happy faces surrounding him, and although he's never been one for speeches, he decides there's a first time for everything.

"Um, thank you, everyone... This means a lot to me, you _all_ mean a lot to me, I just… I never thought I'd have friends outside of Komori, let alone ones that care about me as much as you do. This is amazing, everything you've put together, and I’m really, _really_ touched, more than I can tell you. Uh… happy birthday to me, I guess?"

Sakusa feels fifty shades of awkward after finishing, but the flurry of cheers that erupts from his friends erases any and all of his insecurities.

"Let's make okonomiyaki, guys!" Your announcement triggers another round of cheers, and Sakusa thinks to himself that he's never been happier than he is at this moment.

* * *

As luck would have it, Sakusa's dining table is built to accommodate eight people. It's never had to do that before, sure, but it seems that today's a day for firsts.

"No way! _That's_ what happened at the grocery store?" Bokuto asks over round two of okonomiyaki. Sakusa's pretty impressed that Atsumu made this, if he's being honest. Maybe he did get some of the cooking genes after all.

"You know what? Now that you mention it, you guys do seem… really close." Sakusa raises an eyebrow at Komori's comment, but his eyes don't leave his plate. "What's with that?"

"Shared trauma."

"603's my therapist."

You and Atsumu chuckle over your responses. Sakusa frowns a bit at that, but then he scolds himself. It's true, after all, and it's the whole reason he introduced you two in the first place.

Bokuto suddenly gasps, his metal chopsticks falling to the table with a clatter. "Oh my God, you guys don't _like_ like each other, right?"

Sakusa's head shoots up at that. An uncomfortable silence passes over the table, and he hopes you can feel the holes he's boring into you with his eyes. _Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…_

You and Atsumu respond at the exact same time.

"Bokuto-san, are we in middle school?"

"Well, maybe someday. Ya never know these things."

…What?

Sakusa's eyes widen as the frown marring his forehead deepens, and even you look mildly perplexed. _Everyone_ does, in fact, and Sakusa's about to interject when you start laughing.

"Oi Atsumu! Warn me before you say stuff like that, or else I might actually _gag."_ You elbow him playfully and he gives a little half-smile in return. Bokuto, however, is still not done.

"Wait, neither of you said no!"

"Oh my gosh, Bokuto-san. _No!"_

"Yeah, are ya happy now?"

Sakusa's not, for one. Slightly, _slightly_ relieved, but slight relief from whatever vicious emotion brewing in his chest isn't a lot. It's like the difference between a Doberman and a Rottweiler, and frankly, the last time he wanted to throw Atsumu from a window this badly was when he stepped in his onigiri back in Belgium. It's weird – Atsumu's definitely pulled stunts worse than this in the past, so why does Sakusa feel so… annoyed?

The rest of the night goes without a hitch, for the most part. Alliances are made and broken as you entertain yourselves with Ushijima's board game collection, Hinata has to rinse his tongue after playing Russian roulette with green tea mochi and wasabi, and you and Sakusa end up on the same team for Pictionary. When you win, you're so happy that you jump up and down and wrap your arms around him, just like at the anniversary party. This time, Sakusa holds you close and savours it.

* * *

"Thanks for everything, guys. Drive safe." You and Sakusa wave as your friends disappear down the hall, Hinata and Bokuto hollering a last, _Happy birthday, Omi!_ as they go.

The day's events flicker in your mind, from your supermarket shenanigans with Atsumu, to your unexpected reunion with your ex, to the sheer _panic_ you felt when you saw Sakusa… and finally, to the way his face lit up when he entered the party today. That last memory brings a smile to your face, and when you turn to your neighbour, you find that his eyes are already on you.

"I hope you had fun today, Kiyoomi. Sorry again about the Atsumu-boyfriend thing, you were probably really shocked. Oh, and thanks for your rewards card. It saved me, like, ten percent on ingredients today." It's true. And the best part is that you've finally earned enough points for that new vacuum cleaner he's been wanting.

You dig the card out of your wallet, but when you offer it for him to take, he holds onto your hand before you can pull away. Sakusa's eyes never leave yours, but you can see his pupils are shaking, as if he's… nervous.

"…Thank you. Komori told me this was all your idea. …I can't remember the last time I had this much fun on my birthday, and I just wanted to say it was really nice of you to–"

"No, I didn't do much of anything!" You shake your head in denial, your cheeks going red. "The guys–"

"(Y/N)." Sakusa's usual calm seems to return to him as he squeezes your hand. _"Thank you."_

And he says it with such conviction, such finality, that you're left with no room to argue.

"…You're welcome."

The feeling of his hand in yours is reminiscent of the anniversary party, but back then, there was at least the excuse of comfort (and humiliating Bethany) to hide behind. This time, there's nothing. And it terrifies you, because that means this is real _._ Sakusa is holding your hand because he wants to, running his thumb over your knuckles because he wants to, and his grip is loose enough for you to pull away, but you don't.

Because you don't _want_ to.

"…Kiyoomi, we're friends, right?"

"…Yes. We're friends."

"I'm really happy you're my friend."

"…I am too."

"What did you wish for?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Silence passes over the two of you, and you become keenly aware that his eyes have not once left your face. You're not sure if something has shifted between you, but if it has, you're more than willing to put it back in its place.

"Happy birthday, Kiyoomi," you say, and you hope that the tight smile on your face doesn't betray the weird feelings stirring in your chest.

"Thank you," he says. And then his eyes move up to... your eyebrows? Your hairline? And they linger there so long that you start to worry you've got cake, or confetti, or _something_ unflattering smeared across your skin when–

Sakusa's lips press quickly and gently against your forehead, gone so fast that you barely have time to process it. By the time you realize what's happened, he's disappeared into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

You bring your fingers to your forehead.

And suddenly, the rapid beating of your heart becomes a lot harder to ignore.


End file.
